The Captain's House
The old yellow house down my road was built by a sea captain one hundred fifty years ago. His cleats and hooks used to hang ropes and gear are still on the window frames. The frames are encrusted with layers of paint. The glass is rippled and distorts the reflections into abstractions.
I photographed the house over several seasons, as the images changed with the light. They are ephemeral. I am lost in space between the dim interior and vibrant exterior, or I am somewhere in between. It is a mystery.
At the time, accident had left me temporarily confined and adrift in a dim internal space, time had slowed down. As I moved forward and found the house, I saw dark interiors superimposed with reflections. They were reflections of a lovely outer world which I embraced.