This body of work is tentatively titled, “Articles of Faith," and explores my unique experience with religion and memories of growing up in a fundamentalist Christian church. Themes of segmentation, alienation, and memory are present in the work and important in understanding my relationship with the church. The work was shot in my hometown around the churches I attended growing up as well as at our family home. Shot on black and white film and developed and washed with well water from our rural farm, the work is intended to evoke nostalgia and melancholy. I combined self-portraits as well as portraits of my family to create a cast of characters that could stand in for my memories. Throughout the process of making this work, I attempted to come to terms with my conflicted feelings about my upbringing. The photos created tell my story and exist as a proxy for my memories.

As the project evolved, I began to understand the importance of land in this story. What about this place provides the wellspring for these particular mythologies? Through chronicling the cold landscape of the midwest I’ve attempted to answer these questions and in the process, come to terms with my own relationship with this place. When in the vast prairie, it’s easy to become confined by the limitless terrain. What for some must evoke a sense of freedom instead, in me, has a stifling effect. Through photography, I hope to chart my own neuroses and in the process create for myself a path out of the wilderness.
“We are dust”, he said that night.
“We are dust and that’s it.”
Well, no thank you.
No thanks.
I’ve a thousand children.
All around me while I slumber.
Asking where they go when they die.
I’ve made so many promises.
All out the right of my mouth.
Whispered onward floating in the prairie winds.
I’ve no answer for the wee ones and no escape from the wondering minds.
But here we are in the chamber room.
Panting for the truth.
Dreaming of the river and the cleansing power of the calm waters.
Dreaming of our mother’s wedding and the countenance of the lord.
Dreaming, dreaming, dreaming with our heads on our little pillows and minds in heaven.
I’ve a thousand children.
All strewn about.
Asking where they go.
Asking where they go.
Like Job, I’m waiting.
For them to take everything.
The house, the kids, the dog, the wife.
I’m waiting to sing.
My song of longing worry.
My song written for me.
By a God who waits in patient harmony with the stars and the mineral bodies.
Flickering in the wind.
Like wondering flags of bygone nations.
Listen to me before I lose all again.
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