In 2016, I was given a Brownie Hawkeye camera. Sometimes I take it with me places. I don't feel pressure. I take pictures of what moves me, an amateur relief from the burden of language. There is no theme.
Composition is the only element I know how to think about: color and light, lines and shapes next to each other. I don't think about the kind of film I use; I can’t remember its properties by the time I click the square gray button.
Months go by.
I mail the film to a developer and they email the images back to me. It's a way to keep surprise in my life. When I receive the images, I've forgotten the things I tried to capture. As much as the images reflect a material moment, they also reflect an earlier version of my mind. I reacquaint myself with whatever I was.