Between State

The sprinklers next door activate after three in the morning. The rhythmic sound of water slapping against the stucco wall wakes me. I stumble into the hallway, and pause in slumbery stupor—a figure at the end of the hallway, shrouded in misty light. A reminder: “Wandering lakes have a shimmering surface—how deep the water goes? Throw a stone and find out.”

No. 119

Exposure

“My friend and I had gone to Jackson Hole. I packed all the gear and we hiked around for three days chasing the light. We followed our whims and photographed anything that inspired us. The flow of the light, animals, leaves, trees, the trail. The last night I’m exhausted, packing the film rolls in the dark. A flashlight goes off, and I start panicking, thinking all our hard work was ruined. I told her and cried. When it was processed, it was totally fine. But that’s how sensitive it is. It’s a risk, but a beautiful one.”

No. 100