What I see when I look over my shoulder.
The past is a place half recognizable, half not. My father became a more brilliant story-teller as he got older and his memory made gaps, which he was free to fill in as he wished. I hated it. I wanted facts, true history, documentary evidence. I'm older now. The past looks like a fairy tale, where dreams masquerade as memories, and history is another form of invention. There is documentary evidence in these pictures, but I can't see what is directly behind me. I can only glance sidelong, over each shoulder, with one eye and then another.
The title of the series is taken from Gary Snyder's 1970 poetry collection. The photographs are printed on a cream-colored Washi paper, Asuka White, treated for inkjet printing.
The different textures visible on the screen may be the result of dirt and reflections on a ferry window, digital manipulations, or the wave's own composition at that moment. The Washi, a traditional Japanese paper made from plant fibers, adds a further texture to the mix.
In his book, Snyder sees very clearly what he is regarding: “All/ Gods tides capes currents/ Flows and spirals of/ pool and powers…”