I grew up moving. Military family, 60th parallel, never in one place long enough to take it for granted. What that gave me — though I didn’t understand it then — was a sensitivity to impermanence.

To the way places hold memory, and the way we leave traces in them whether we intend to or not. My photography comes from that place. I am drawn to threshold moments — between seasons, between wild and inhabited, between what was and what’s becoming. I don’t chase the perfect light. I wait for the in-between.

Most of my best images happen when I’m not looking for them. Walking the dogs on a frozen lake. Stepping outside on a cold night with a camera because I needed air. Pulling over on a highway because hoar frost has turned a burned forest into something that takes your breath away.

I shoot with a medium format camera because I want to honour what I find.

I photograph the traces of what has been — and the quiet possibility of what is becoming.