I photograph the undulations of the earth — the way ridgelines fold against dawn light, valleys pool darkness like breath held in cupped stone, and mist stratifies a forest into separate worlds of distance. My images are built on layering: not only the physical strata of terrain, atmosphere, and time, but the accumulated meanings beneath them. A mountain basin scattered with glowing tents becomes a sky turned upside down. A solitary structure above morning mist carries the weight of every sentinel that ever stood watch. I look for the moment when geology becomes metaphor, and the surface of the land begins to speak in more than one register at once.