For me, memories are like dreams. They tickle, tease, and sometimes taunt my conscious self with slippery remembrances that can't be fully owned. Tangled hints of experience and feelings past swirl and ferment in a cauldron of haunting visions that, however vague, are indelibly etched on a virtual fabric tinted with the bittersweet wash of ambiguity and the quest to understand.

Once upon a time, I had dreams that my Adirondack photographs would posit answers about the beauty of nature. Now, I think that they pose many questions about the nature of beauty. As I grope furtively and photographically through the fields of genius in the details, I feel like a stranger in a strange land where my photographs seem more like jamais vu glimpses of lost connections to something intuitively known rather than documents of fully conscious waking experieinces.

The creation of my Adirondack Dream Memories photographs is driven by a seemingly preternatural vision obsession with the elemental and the complex, so, for me, the Adirondacks is a dream come true.