Again, this statement is a roughish one, but i do feel like im beginning to get at something, something that i think ive had a hard time describing or understanding myself.
Right now it is difficult for me to come up with a statement I am satisfied with, if satisfaction with a statement is even possible. My work exists within a constant state of flux, in between the bounds of tragedy, and comedy, yet those words are maybe a little too dramatic for my liking. Rather, my photographs exist in a world of static energy, yet the energy is neither positive nor negative. Lately I don't know whether to laugh or cry. At everything, yet at nothing. Both are short lived. They are just the continual climax that will soon plummet. Plummet into what they are when combined: nothingness. A canceling out of any sort of semblance.
My work is about the canceling out. It is nothing, yet it is everything.
It is the release of shit after death.
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