More than other art forms, photography is often named the one that captures reality, recording the way it really was, the one you can depend on. I find still photography so deficient in this regard. Looking at the flat plane of the photo, where is the fragrant breeze I remembered, the speed of the scudding clouds, the beating glare of the sun, the siren wailing in the distance, a nip of chill in the air, the sound of voices whispering in the corner, or the lilt of a someone’s step on the sidewalk? In my photographs, I look for glimpses of these other elements that make up the reality of any moment —a synesthesia, where the record of sight can also convey the hint of movement, smell, sound, temperature, or rain, and the feeling of it all.
Rue des Ecouffes, Marais, Paris, March 2016