These are the stories behind some of the photographs.
The moments, the thinking, the context that shaped them.
Not every piece has one. These are the ones that do.
I was staying with a friend in West Virginia. The day before I arrived, he mowed the lawn around a dead tree standing alone in his field. When I first saw it, close to noon, something stopped me, but I knew it wasn't the moment. Full Story
I go to cemeteries often. Not out of fear or unease, but because of the silence, and a kind of isolation that feels like peace rather than loneliness. On one of those visits, at the Cementerio General in San José, I found this. A stone figure burying her face in her hands, red roses blooming in front of her, a sky heavy with an approaching storm. Full Story
I found this on Tivives Beach, on the dark volcanic sand. A small plastic doll, headless, with a couple of dried leaves nearby that looked almost like they were keeping her company. Most of the time, when I photograph something, I don't think much about what it means until later. This was one of the few times I understood it while I was still standing there. Full Story