other people's lives

The look and feel of found images tugs at my insides, merging with the sometimes foggy, sometimes crystal clear memories I have of my childhood in the 1960's. As I close my eyes to view my own internal snapshots and flickering home movies, they merge with the artifacts I find in musty antique stores, yard sales, and junk shops, and it seems that I was actually there in every forgotten photo, and discarded reel of film. Cradling a yellowed fragile print in my hands as my surroundings drift away, I feel the sunlight, hear the sprinklers on the lawn, and drink in the scent of warm summer dust, and dry leaves.