Where two sides meet

A membrane separates one thing from another, but never completely. It holds something back and lets something through. A line can feel like a division, but also like the place where two things meet.

I love reflections: light on water, light on glossy surfaces, the lines a shadow draws. In this series I mirror more than anywhere else. In Cobalt Hinge, two halves share one edge. In Mineral Hold, the more often a form returns, the less the single form matters. Carmine Fold comes back to the same movement again and again, slightly changed each time.

It doesn't feel like repetition to me. It feels like approaching something from different distances, never arriving in quite the same place.

I don't think about meaning while photographing. It comes later, sometimes only when I choose a title. Familiar Distance. Left Pulse, Right Pulse. Looking at them now, I see two sides and what passes between them.

I notice myself most clearly in relation to someone else. Their response can show me something about what I bring into the space between us, if I pay attention. But that response is never a clean reflection. It carries the other person's history too.

That is why a membrane fits better than a mirror. A mirror only gives back. A membrane takes something in, changes it, and mixes it with the other side.

It is not a wall. It is a place of contact.

There is a membrane between you and these works too. You don't need to see what I saw. What you find is partly the work, and partly you.