The act of photographing, the physical exertion of enduring the elements while venturing into secluded environments, is to me a necessary form of release. It often feels as if I lack a vocabulary with which to describe my own emotions. I feel a burden of years I have not yet lived. A long struggle to cope with emotional turmoil, and a troubled relationship with my own body, has driven me toward developing a method of internal exploration through the artistic process. By venturing in solitude into nature, I can allow myself to be vulnerable. I can be aware of my surroundings to an unusual degree, and record the spaces and elements thereof that speak to my state of mind. I can allow my body to move through the expanse, and record its motions as well. As difficult as it often is to want to look at my own form, when it emerges into a photographic element it becomes something foreign. As long as I can watch the rituals of seasons changing, of rain and snow lightly battering the ground, of the wind gently eroding everything it touches, I can momentarily enter into these processes whenever I choose, acting either as witness or as interference. There is a history to the ground that I will never know. In producing these photographs, I seek a small measure of comfort in the present.