Photographic practice can act as a metaphor during these challenging times we find ourselves living in. I thought about this as I undertook my weekly wander through the bosque this Thursday. So much unknown hovering around me, even when the environment is familiar. There is change evident in my surroundings, even if it is not immediately obvious. Time takes its time, sometimes. The desire for quick answers and obvious results is an unreasonable expectation. I walk quietly, wearing a mask, even though there are no other people around. I rely on technology to make my images that has been around for decades. Even though cameras have been upgraded digitally, I still rely on old tools and easy-to-dismiss “toys” that require using my hands, my eyes, my patience. November feels different, especially this year…so much pain and loss and confusion. I walked with my camera on cold mornings back in March and April, when the pandemic first reared its head, and now I’m doing exactly the same thing. My work has become more layered, more dense, more dramatically contrasty, dirtier, more expressive, and ultimately… less restrained, more free. Perhaps in the past one image would suffice in telling a story, now layers upon layers combine to express what is in my mind and in my heart. In the end, my process relies on my ability to see. And it relies on the sun, rising as it does every day, helping me to record what I see, in all its jumbled, chaotic complexity, onto a frame of film. Where it sits, in its latency, to finally emerge in the world.