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Slipping sheets of film under the covers, under pillows, in between the sheets, these photographs are made without the confines of a camera, without control and without the essential aspect of what makes a correct photograph--focused light. They are made over sometimes long periods of time, buried deeply under layers, exposed with the tiny light from dark windows and ambient spills from careless LCD screens. In many cases they are failures, negatives built up too densely to view or left for too little time, without enough light to imprint them. The process is one embedded in ritual. Slept on and with, little record keepers of the duration of a night. Or two. And more.
Perhaps an exercise in anti-documenting, these are photographs as uncertain objects, records of instability in an attempt to pin down a constant. They are just slow light leaking onto plastic.