The act of photographing is both simple and complex, involving both the conscious and the preconscious. While I believe that sensation seeking is an essential part of our humanness, it is difficult for me to probe the often subtle feelings that prompt me to click the shutter and continue to engage in further photographic manipulations. I do know, however, that sensation is a prerequisite to any form of revelation. On that level, many photographs seem complete when I click the shutter. The apparent statement being made at the time is often direct and declarative: I love you, rock, this is an incredible tree, etc. Several years ago, after a long day of shooting, I realized while processing my film that the total amount of time the shutter on my camera had been open was probably less than two seconds - with any luck, the most meaningful and visually stimulating fractions of my day.

Relative to my personal growth, I feel that the total camera experience provides a very special way of relating to and understanding the world. Above all else, the camera is a license to explore, a stimulus that tempts us to interact with the environment. The mere possession of a camera tends to heighten our perceptual awareness. With our cameras we can intensely and personally examine fragments of the world around us without feeling self-conscious. A crack in the sidewalk may provide a visual stimulus with poetic and enigmatic implications. Furthermore, one can interact without the need to articulate.

I have come to realize that another significant part of the photo quest occurs at a preconscious level. I am speaking of the personal, internalized perception that allows one to explore the subject beneath the surface. This concept was first introduced to me by Minor White back in the fifties. When I was a student of Minor's, we had a class dictum: One should not only photograph things for what they are but for what else they are. This attitude remains an essential part of my image-making. While the notion of the camera as a metamorphosing machine was introduced to me early in my photographic career, it has taken me many years as an active image maker to fully embrace the idea that the entire photographic process is an act of metamorphosis.

One of the major changes in attitude that occurred in the world of art as we moved from the nineteenth into the twentieth century was that the twentieth century artist became more involved with personal expression than with celebrating exclusively the values of the society or the church. Along with this change came a broader acceptance of the belief that the artist can invent a reality that is more meaningful than the one that is literally given to the eye. I subscribe enthusiastically to this belief.

I try to begin working with no preconceived ideas. Each click of the shutter suggests an emotional and visual involvement and contains the potential of establishing greater rapport with some quintessential aspect of the subject and my feelings toward it, both conscious and preconscious. My contact sheets become a kind of visual diary of all the things I have seen and experienced with my camera. They contain the seeds from which my images grow. Before entering the darkroom, I ponder these sheets, seeking fresh and innovative juxtapositions that expand the possibilities of the initial subject matter. Ultimately, my hope is to amaze myself. The anticipation of discovering new possibilities becomes my greatest joy.

Having taught photography in a university for over twenty-five years, I have become increasingly aware of the contrast between the photographic experience and the conventional educational experience. In the academic environment, which often seems excessively structural and is predominantly directed toward expanding the left hemisphere of the brain, it is a relief to see the
heightened awareness and excitement generated by the photographic experience. For many students, photography offers another system of learning and understanding. I am convinced that an hour spent wandering with one's camera is sometimes more valuable than an hour spent in the library. While many of my students have succeeded in photography and photographically related
professions, the hidden agenda of my courses has always been to make people more sensitive by giving them another way of relating to the world.

A significant part of my own photography involves nature and the landscape. Nature is a very subjective concept for me, and I am personally attracted to images that challenge our sense of what is real. While my landscapes do not document reality as it is literally perceived, my hope is that they transcend that reality, enriched by the source of my own experience. I would like the synthesized and reconstructed images I create to challenge the inherent believability of the photograph. All of the nformation is there, yet the mystery remains.

I believe that there is a great human capacity for transcendence. This phenomenon is observable in all of the fine arts, as we constantly seek new ways of commenting on a world that sometimes reveals itself to us in a moment of understanding that surpasses the boundaries of our ordinary experience. The increased popularity of the arts today reflects the human need for such moments of transcendence, and shows that most of us are eager to have experiences that expand and challenge the possibilities of art and life.