Found Construction

  A lamppost’s chipped paint. Strands of string coiled around a boulder. A shard of glass reflecting light in a puddle.

  I notice these things on walks—from city streets to parks, from construction sites to pedestrian paths. When I spot something, I take a photo exactly as I find it—no rearranging, dusting off, or moving. I never know how it will fit with others I’ve taken.

  It’s only when I sit down and start to pore over the thousands of images—grouping them into a grid of usually nine—that I get to build out a visual story of place, color, form, mood, or point of view. I swap out one, switch in another, reconfigure and rework until a cohesive tapestry emerges. What I see is what I shoot—and I don’t alter or enhance the colors of individual photos.

  On closer look, the kelly green undercoat that peeks out from the chipped black lamppost is a map, a verdant landmass surrounded by a black ocean. Placed next to the hot pink string neatly tied in a bow on a construction site, the electric cobalt glass caught in a Midtown rain shower, and the burnt orange remains of a once-protective mesh fence, a neon narrative begins to unfold.

  It can take me months or years to finalize a group of photos that belong together. Once I do, I call it a “Found Construction.”