I return to American environments—garages, roads, interiors, signs, buildings, and stretches of land. People use them, pass through, leave behind, and often stop seeing them.

I do not think of these places as empty. They hold evidence of work, memory, routine, care, neglect, and time. The people are absent, but the charge of human presence remains in the structures and landscapes they have shaped.

What connects the work is evidence of use. Through repetition and familiarity, a place or object can acquire unexpected weight. Something has happened there, or is about to. I simplify the forms, compress the space, and quiet the color so the image can sit still and that presence can become visible.

I am not trying to dramatize the ordinary world. I leave enough out for the place to speak for itself.