The breeze tickles my neck as the sun dances through the forest. Bright leaves cascade down, creating patterns impossible to predict. As the sun sets, an old barn radiates color so rich, I have to stop. And then the season changes.
In winter, long light sneaks fitfully through the windows, surprising me where it lands. Often there is no light at all and the cold sets in. Living in rural Vermont, it’s a given we talk about the weather. You feel it in your bones. You bring it in on your shoes. The darkness is long and the light is a gift.
In this rural life, I feel connected to the land: it is beautiful and lonely, harsh yet nurturing, constant but ever changing. As the world spins faster, disturbing the quiet landscape and its daily rhythm, I worry about the future and feel nostalgic for the past. Seeking the bright spots puts me at ease. These photographs chronicle my love of place and how I cope with living here.
I combine rural scenes with ones that I have staged to represent my emotional response to being here, now. I often use movement, either through the camera or through the physical body. As a dancer, I relate to Doris Humphrey’s statement: “Nothing so clearly reveals the inner man than movement and gesture… the moment you move, you stand revealed.” I hope that I stand revealed.
