Final Approach
I was probably six or seven when I first believed I could open the airplane window and collect clouds. Not metaphorically, I genuinely thought they were something you could hold. Soft, cotton-ball things drifting past, just waiting to be gathered and brought home. Nobody told me otherwise until it was too late, and by then the disappointment had already settled into something more interesting: a fascination I haven't quite shaken since.
Airports and flights exist in their own time. Not your time, not the destination's time, something in between that belongs to neither. Your phone loses signal. The tomato juice you would never order on the ground arrives and tastes inexplicably good. A stranger falls asleep next to you, and you share, briefly, a strange kind of intimacy. The world below continues without you. This, for a few hours, is a remarkable thing.
'Final Approach' is my attempt to photograph that feeling — the suspended state of air travel, the in-between. Not planes as machines, not airports as infrastructure, but the particular quality of light and waiting and geometry that this world produces. The taxiway at dawn. The gate that nobody is standing at yet. The horizon seen from the wrong side of the clouds. I have watched every episode of Mayday. I find it oddly comforting. Make of that what you will.
more to come...
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