I didn’t set out to make a project.

I was trying to understand myself.

I had spent years learning how to help other people make sense of themselves.

Eventually I wondered what would happen if I turned those same skills on myself.

I found some of what I was looking for.

And then something I wasn’t.

Play.

It started with my husband.

There were unusual instructions, which he accepted with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

Sometimes he looked like himself.

Sometimes he looked like a stranger who had wandered into the wrong project.

Then the dogs joined in too.

Although nobody had asked them to.

And things kept volunteering.

The chairs.

The blankets.

The clothes.

The boxes.

The bricks.

The garden.

The woods.

The landscape.

Everything was allowed to wander into the story.

The photographs began with him.

But somewhere along the way, they stopped being just about him.