It’s a chilly November evening, 2010.
I loaded an old leicaflex slr with a new roll of film, threw another log on the fire, and headed out to make pictures.
I flicked the porch lights on on my way out. I left a picture set-up on the porch earlier that afternoon, and positioned my tripod to make it. I couldn’t do it. The picture wasn’t there.
I felt discouraged, and thought it best to pack my equipment and head back in to keep warm by the wood stove.
I decided to walk up and down the alley, just to be sure, to see if there were any pictures I was missing.
I stumbled upon something, just an impulse really. I spent the next hour abstracting trees in the darkness. My exposures were many minutes (I just guessed, really), and I jumped up and down and blew into my hands to keep warm all the while. I realized, however, as I watched the cars zooming by me, that during each exposure, time passed and left its imprint. The moment was nothing singular.