Title: I mistook a floater in my eye, as a sign from God… and this is all I got.
When I was young, probably about seven years old, I became aware of a clear circle that would drop down in front of my eye. At first I worried something terrible was wrong with me, but this later turned into ideas that this circle was, indeed, very special. This little clear circle appeared on sunny days and, with enough experiments and practice, I was able to keep it afloat within my view, almost straining my eyes to see what was not within my field of vision. This relationship between the outside world and my eye still remains in the way I see the camera and the outside world – they both need each other but never reveal their true self to each other, it’s all about constantly photographing and looking in an attempt to make some sort of sense.
I’m always curious which element guides me – the wonderment of the floater or the continuation of the intellectual photography debate. I feel often at odds with photography and always hold close Eggleston’s title ‘At war with the obvious’.
I see my work as a heartfelt attack on all that is photographic.
The images are arranged in what seems like two expressive marks that cut across the wall. The eye follows the path, almost forcing the viewer through the experience of looking – and back out again, before any chance to ponder. Then the work starts to piece its self together in a complex puzzle arrangement that almost falls apart in front of your eyes. Is there some higher wisdom or is this just thrown together?
