Open shutter while on the high-speed bullet train from Tokyo to Osaka
When I make a photograph, I am literally cropping out the rest of existence — its tension, its chaos, its hunger, its pain. For one small moment, I wall myself into a world of my own creation; a world where things may not make immediate narrative or logical sense, but where everything is in balance. Thin, almost pencil-drawn lines offset wide, flat spaces. The smooth hardness of glass acts as counterweight to the fine hairs of a polyester wig. I don’t have any pretensions of long-term escape. I know when I put the camera down, when I step back from the print, there’ll be something like an avalanche of smells and voices, car alarms and newspaper headlines, legal obligations and biological concerns. I’ll be a part of things again over which I’ve no control. But for a moment, I’ve hidden long enough to take a breath.