Phase (v)
Inkjet prints, glass, wood, 13 x 19 inches each (2015)

Phase (v) occupies a plane perpendicular to the standard gallery vantage point. One enters the space to encounter luminous, transparent photographs emerging from the wall while both grasping light and projecting it through. This plane is neither division nor disruption, but an incorporation: spine and wall are one. The binding containing the pieces is integrated into the architecture yet denies our anticipation of its function. Unlike the perpendicular axis of video screens in You Can't Play Yourself Back, there is no experience of circumnavigation, instead merely a pivot. The radius surrounding each piece suggests it could be flat against the wall, but something additional is revealed by its position, in its simultaneous reliance on and rebellion from the wall.

Each image is an abstraction, depicting remnant marks of another time, a trace embedded within a photograph that then becomes a trace of a trace. The photographic object -- comprising a translucent image sandwiched between two glass sheets contained by an incomplete frame -- itself becomes a lens, filtering light to enable an image suggesting both recording (camera) and amplification (projector). The stationary pieces serve as time-pieces in the moving natural light. They resonate with the diurnal cycle: not just the rise and fall of the sun, but also the effect of weather patterns upon light, reigniting the textures and inscriptions of the images.

The unity of spine and wall evokes a book reversed on a bookshelf: the pages face outward. However, there are only two pages, containing all within their narrow separation. The top and bottom edges eliminate the potential opening. Yet the cover becomes a window collapsing all information into a falsely neutral trace. One is aware of the intentionally unfinished edge, the lack of anticipated form. This missing edge draws attention to a slim gap between the raw glass edges where the image must reside, again recalling the space between the dual surfaces of photographic glass; that which contains via recording and that which amplifies via projection.

Caught between the glass panes are monochrome photographs, parallel lines contained within the parenthesis of green glass edges. If the green edges are mimeses of the structure, they view the photographic object as a totality, except the sixteenth of an inch separating them. The photographs become material in this gap, a visual pause with invisible edges. A materiality of photographs sustained between two green lines bookended by two square brackets of wood. [sic]: "An error originally appearing in the source material but not attributable to the quoting author."

Juxtaposing these spaces suggests an archetypal meaning to that which is contained within books, frames, and windows; that which converts the past into memory, and memory into history. The content becomes the containment of the information itself, as it cannot be separated from the means by which it is presented. The content is photography. And dust: the precious dust of silver. The frame creates the structure by which formatted viewership is contained, but the open edge reveals the frame's contents. Those contents recede into a truncated one-point perspective as soon as the vantage point shifts ever so slightly to either side of the piece. This is similar to what occurs as the photograph is made, as light is recorded and embedded, within the metallic dust.