House sitting for an absolute stranger is an odd job. For a week I inhabited a man’s home in the Palisades. Within this space, this photo series emerged.
 
I'd walk into each room, examining the materials that he had collected over the years. A Princeton diploma hanging up on the wall, junk mail scattered on the kitchen table, a California King mattress lying frameless on the ground, black and white family photos from the 90's set on the mantle, Raymond Carver books stocked on the shelf, and a bathroom filled with Aesop soap. He was a brilliant mess. I had heard that his wife left him about a year ago and the kids had grown up and moved to NYC.  
 
My mind began to occupy time with a character that resembled this middle-aged man preparing to reckon with himself out in the Mojave. Maybe as I searched his home only to find questions, he was out there collecting answers. Perhaps through color, or the vastness of the desert, or in his open embrace to the heavens above, he might empty himself enough to receive whatever might be given.