I began as a sculptor. I only took photography at the University of MT because it was required for my degree. But when the very first assignment was given, to shoot texture, a strange image came into my mind. I saw a man in the bath. I focused on the white porcelain curve of the clawfoot tub, followed by an arc of light gray bathwater, caressing the smooth hip and flank of the man, which went a darker gray than the water. The only black was a triangle of pubic hair in the upper corner. The image was very abstract. Almost like a Sonia Delaunay, although I hadn’t met her work yet, at that time. I saw it clearly in my head and set it up with my lover in the bath, and me standing on a step ladder and shooting straight down into the tub. The image had a very peculiar perspective, and when it went up on the wall with all the other student work, which tended to be a lot of close-ups of tree bark and brick, it was quite shocking. My Photo professor called my sculpture teacher and my art criticism teacher into the room. They were very excited about this image. They decided to regroup at the end of the term. At this second conference, it was decided that something very significant was happening with my eye. I was told I had to continue to take photography, I could continue with sculpture too but photography probably was my voice. I always say photography chose me, I did not choose it. In graduate school, my sculpture professor Michael Hall looked at my photos in a critique and told me I shot like a sculptor—in the round—and exhibited like a frieze. The department head of photography at Cranbrook, Carl Toth, was the most intelligent man I have ever known. He was so learned in so many areas and he could see what you had that was unique and encourage or challenge that aspect of you. He gave me Alain Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet’s Last Year at Marienbad, to watch, and Maugerite Duras’ The Lover, to read. Both very important to my development. Later, Ralph Gibson met with me in NY and sent me Monsieur Lemagny at the Bibliotheque Nationale in Paris. Lemagny mentored me, critiquing all my work and advising me on what to read—Gaston Bachelard—films to see, etc. This was huge. Having someone like him set aside this time for me, see my work, appreciate it, and exhibit it gave me the confidence I needed. These two men gave me a very firm foundation under my ideas, to build my art on.

One of the main things you need to know about me is that I previsualize everything I shoot. All my images continued to come into my mind before I shot them, just as the very first did. It feels like a gift I have been sent from some kind of filmic Gods, to put into the world. There is a prayer in Native American culture to become a hollow bone, a conduit from which the source of creation can pour forth and fulfill the destiny of our spirit. It’s meant to be in the world and I adhere strictly to what I am sent. It comes to me in Muybridge-esque sequences and beauty prevails. Beauty attracts all of us and uplifts us. We need it like we need the sun. I use it as a draw to attract, like flowers do bees, and to convey my deeper concepts addressing the politics of love: the struggle to love, to achieve the intimacy we all crave, to be seen, and how each of our perceptions differs throughout the experience, the very real difficulty of learning to read the signals of the other, of getting it right, of of not letting it fade, not getting lazy about that. Love and beauty are what the world needs now. I know this because it’s what I’m always sent. I am led, a hollow bone. I am a vessel.