The other day I wrote about how I don’t get deep into a subject, I don’t sweat it, and yesterday walking in the woods (as is my tradition on Yom Kippur) I found myself not quite agreeing with myself on this. The fact is, I take my camera out into the woods quite a lot, and find myself looking at the same things over and over again. I particularly love the invasive vines that happen to be strangling the native trees (go figure), and not infrequently find myself in a true reverie as I just look and look and try to get closer and inside their twists and knots.

These are the times when I’m shooting to try and understand something, not for the picture that will emerge. I’m pretty much always disappointed by the pictures – they are truly no more than residual artifacts of where I’ve been and what I’ve seen. They jog the memory. At best something decorative comes through – so opposite to the intensity of my involvement when I’m in these thickets.

Chaos, disorder, purpose, ambition, symmetry.

The parks department comes in periodically and hacks them down.