This series, Anaphora, continues key themes found in my previous work: the tensions between thinking and feeling, between symmetry and asymmetry, and between order and chaos.

The ostensible subjects of these photographs are wires - ordinary electric and telephone wires that most photographers studiously work to avoid in their photographs. At one level, wires are a symbol of technology and sleek cold geometry, the ultimate of intellectual simplicity and rigor. They keep some of that austere simplicity in my photographs, which lends a serene and meditative aura.

However, in the context of these photographs the wires and lines carry a wide range of other meanings as well. Like in Barnett Newman's work, I use variations of thick and thin lines, bold and tenuous, ragged and strident, dense and sparse, and central and marginalized, and each of these variations bring up different assocations for us. I also vary the orientation of the lines, using the horizontal and diagonal lines, as well has vertical ones. I am fascinated by the different connotations that the orientation can convey: horizontal lines can be expansive, all-encompassing, and anchoring, but they can also be layers of history or a tomb (as in Rothko's work) ; diagonal lines can be dynamic and energetic (as in Richard Diebenkorn's work), but they can also be domineering or unbalancing; vertical lines can be life-affirming rays of energy (as for Newman), or they can be rigid and blocking.

While most of my previous work is in a square format, I was drawn to elongated compositions for this work, particularly long horizontals, and to a monumental scale. For now, they are printed at 24" x 60" (with some longer ones ranging up to 24" x 75"). Part of the inspiration for this shift to monumental horizontal works comes from Barnett Newman - I was blown away by his Vir Heroicus Sublimis at MOMA when I saw it last year. When faced with a work of that size and shape, you can't take the whole work in at the same time, so it introduces a new dimension of temporality and seriality, which goes well with the rhythmic nature of the work itself. Another source of inspiration for this series came from Ellsworth Kelly, both for his creative use of rhythmic repetition (as in Cite), and for his use of diagonals (as in La Combe III and Ormesson). My use of asymmetric, marginal compositions was originally inspired by Harry Callahan, and I also share his love of understated subtleties of expression. Franz Kline's paintings have also managed to find their way into this series - there are echoes of Ravenna in my Anaphora #43, for example.

In Linguistics, anaphora is the process of referring to things by means of words like pronouns. He, she, it, myself, them... They are magical creatures, these anaphors. Lifeless until we breathe life into them. It, it, it. What is it? Nothing, until you make it something. Then, behold! It contains a universe, requiring only the slightest touch of thought to release it. Then it is bursting with life, until we casually let it slip from our fingers and forget it. Then it deflates and returns to its former existence as a limp little word, stripped naked until we need it again.

In the same way, the simplest line, defined by two bare points, is gesture stripped to its most basic. But brush against it, graze it with your finger, set it on its way with a breath, and it comes alive. It might explode with indomitable energy, or skitter away tenuously. It is whatever you want it to be. Then do the same to some of the line's brethren- bring three more to life, or three hundred. They can march to war, or sit down to contemplate the omphalos. The universe is waiting to be created...