Archetyped! Is an experiment in storytelling, and exploration of just how many words can fit inside a photograph. When sight provokes memory, when an image lives inside a tradition of storytelling, it becomes more than just one image.
Inspired by the likes of Cindy Sherman’s Untitled Film Stills and the works of Gregory Crewdson, I began my own foray into illustrating moments from stories that never existed. But whereas Sherman explored the stereotypes of her era’s cinema, and Crewdson comments on real life, Archetyped! is a commentary of the way we dream about heroes.
I don’t understand abstract photography, which is funny because I seem to make an awful lot of it.
There are some things which we don’t talk about, for fear of revealing too much of ourselves. It is frightening to admit our passions, even when we wear tem on our sleeves. I hesitate to save that I love photography, that I’m passionate about light and shadows, compositional lines and the way human eyes travel across images. I feel childish admitting that every time I watch the alchemical process of transforming light into an image, it feels like magic.
Every day, every click of my shutter, the magic is still there, tempered slightly by familiarity by no less mystical for the frequency of this indulgence.
There is no meaning behind Emphasis Mine except the exultation inherent in shouting “Look!” Shorn of words, free from thoughts, in these images I delight in my passions. Inside my serious exterior, behind my careful measurements of light ratios, underneath the calm directions I give to my models, there is a boy who laughs as he works the camera. The images in this gallery were selected by how high I jumped for joy as color bled into paper and became beautiful in my eyes.
Behind the deadline and bureaucracy of arranging art shows is a boy sharing the secret of what is held cupped in his hand. As your eye slides across the image, I am whispering to you that the world is a beautiful place to play in.
It is people that fill every frame of my photography, and these photographs are no different, though their frames are populated by absence. Children play, parents worry, and men and women of all ages rush past in the hurry that fills the daylight hours. Yet, these people have left. Retreated to their sanctuaries, they leave us to wander in the magic known as Four In The Morning, that odd hour which has always been my home.