Z 's Tracks
One afternoon in April I was watching my son play with a paper hat, a hat I had made for his second birthday. He was pulling apart the fringe, throwing it up in the air over the couch, and watching the pieces fall. The afternoon light streamed in illuminating the dust in the air. And it hit me that I was the sole witness to his world - his experiments, triumphs, and joys.
I photographed the tiny pieces lying on the couch, his traces, his trails, his tracks. Photography itself is a medium that begins with a trace of something or someone, an emblem of the past, a time traveler from the present.
