At Halo Hill

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Halo Hill Farm is shaped by weather, time, and my daily practice of paying attention. The photographs arise from living here long enough to notice the small shifts — snow settling into a field of corn-stubble to our west, traces of ice expanding and contracting, summer wind moving through wild grasses, fireflies in June, fog rising until just before the light dissolves it.

     This work is made on the ancestral homelands of the Potawatomi, Ojibwe, Odawa, Sauk, and Meskwaki peoples — the original stewards whose relationship with this place energetically endures.

     White trumpeter swans, sandhill cranes, deer, coyotes, wild turkeys, geese, and the concert of songbirds move through the farm as the soundtrack. The trees my father and his Bohemian friends planted more than fifty years ago grow along side a long continuity of the land. 

     What accumulates here is a record of the our stewardship years.