I take photographs because of the process, rather than the outcome. The process allows me to be. Not to be liked or disliked. Not to be accepted within society. Just to be. I’ve never been one to feel much passion for anything other than the process. It is what pushes me to feel past my breaking point. The process eliminates the limits that I've placed on myself. It eliminates the fears, leaving only the pain. The pain that lies behind my work. The pain that I could never seem to rid myself of. We hear about all the terrible things going on in the world around us. We mourn the lives taken my mass shootings. We cry for those being unfairly mistreated. We hear about these things and we feel hurt and sympathy, for a moment. Then these feelings pass. Our team wins the big game. We’ve just been promoted. The world keeps spinning. But the pain stays with me. My world seems to stop each time. I hold onto each pain tightly because it seems to slip out of the hands of others too easily. This is what drives my process. Because if it were not for the process, the pain would be too much to bear. The goal of my process is not to experiment, but to guide and to learn. To guide my way out of the pain, and to learn how to use the pain to better fuel my work. I want people to see my work through feelings. Not through definitions or overthought. I want them to look at a photo and understand the pain that went into its process. Or at least, acknowledge that the pain once existed.
Disclaimer: All work represents the views of the INDIVIDUAL ARTISTS & AUTHORS who created them, and are not those of the school or museum of the Art Institute.