My father left when I was three, that might have been my earliest childhood memory, him walking out the door after a fight with my mother. I feel like this stoppage of time and almost a state of permanence with an image was something I sought after. Growing up I only knew my dad through images, until I “met” him for the “first” time when I was nine or ten. I learned that he just did what he thought was going to make him happy, I learned he was in the carpenters and allied trades union for almost forty years at that time. I feel like this is why a majority of my work deals with the lower working and non working class, the blue collar. Shining light on the lives who wouldn't be worth the photograph to some’s standards. These lives cast in the shadow of fears, religion, alcoholism, patriotism etc. alive now more than ever within and out of “small town Americana.”
I love those people and this broken landscape with all of my heart. I can relate with these people because I am one of them. I’ve dealt with my own struggles through crime, homelessness and addiction. I have just been one of the few who was granted a way out and found some kind of means of expressing that love, even if it is documenting another’s trials and tribulations through life.