The moments of violence hardened me without my realizing, returning me a stranger to those that I loved. I could still marvel at the infinite whiteness of the Arctic or the golden warmth of an Italian afternoon, but in my dreams, again and again, I would find myself being pulled to an edge beyond which there was nothing. I would fall and fall before waking in my bed or sleeping bag, soaked in sweat and startled to be alive.
While I’ve known it before to some degree, it has become increasingly clear to me that I am creating the family images I make to leave a record for my daughter. To know where we’re headed we have to know where we come from. Hopefully some day these photographs can serve as a foundation for her to better understand her roots and that no matter what happens in life, her mother and me love her more than she could ever know.