constructed landscapes

Any form of human touch is seen as a grievous sin against the photographic holy object, the negative.

We are taught that the perfect photo, with it's infinite reproducibility, is one that is free from the residue of the making: no facture, no scratch, no trace of the artist is to be left. The maker is to somehow to live in the crystal clear magical window to that some other where.

Here In these windows are saved not only my eye, my execution of the mathematical cold formalistic values, my decisive click of the shutter, but also my cutting, my culling, my assembling, my occasional fingerprint,

a stray hair, even my breath.

Someday they will search this frankensteined landscapes, for I am there.