For much of my career I’ve shot in places that I’ve never returned. Foreign countries, unfamiliar streets - markets filled with activity and people - where countless visuals are there to be taken in or missed. Mostly, I have no opportunity to return and perhaps refine my gaze or interest. But here at the home on the shore, my bedroom becomes resplendent with light that filters through the old glass in these windows. I came to the shore often in the run up to the Hermitage show, to work on the edits and angst over the words that would open the book and ponder whether anyone would come. In the mornings I’d drink coffee and read in the bedroom to begin the day, later moving downstairs to the computer and bike rides, lunches outside. On sunny days, as the afternoon lengthens, the bedroom comes to life again. It’s as though the “studio” is opened. And at the foot of the bed, I work this canvas shooting still lifes of one sort or another. Strange and beautiful things I’ve kept or gathered. Playing with the arrangements, the focus or lack of - enjoying what comes to life. The light of course moves as the day heads to over, and I follow it’s path, rearranging whatever I’m shooting to the pools I’ve been given. And then it’s gone. A perfect party, finished. It’s different now as spring moves to summer. The big trees are leafing out and the light more mottled than the stripped down winter beams. Different certainly, still beautiful.