The florist below my studio had a cooler emergency. He left white calla lilies on the street. I took them.

When I started photographing them I understood something: a calla at full bloom is already beginning its exit. The white is the last brightness before the turn. What I thought was rescue became a series about beauty at the precise moment before decay.

Deep black grounds. Selective focus. The spathe and stem pulled from context, held in light, given back to you as temporary fact.

Archival pigment prints, face-mounted acrylic on Dibond. 45 × 34 inches. Edition of 7 + 2 APs.

Water finds me. No matter where I am — Vermont, Oregon, Austria, Aruba — I end up with a few frames of it. I have stopped wondering why. Some things you are simply drawn toward, and the honest response is to point the camera and pay attention.

These black and white photographs were taken on a rainy October morning in a New York City subway station. The subjects and the camera were moving in opposite directions. Each image is a fleeting, solitary moment — caught at the edge of vision before it disappeared.