Artist Statement

I found this small opening in the earth while walking slowly, eyes cast downward, attending to what the ground might offer. A dark hole, no larger than my fist, pressed into the textured surface of compacted sand and stone. Around it, the land rose and fell in gentle ridges, shaped by water or wind or the patient work of time. Dry leaves scattered across the surface like punctuation. The opening itself revealed nothing. It simply held its darkness and waited.

In black and white, the hole becomes the anchor of the image. It is the darkest point in a field of grey, drawing the eye inward and then refusing to let it pass. I cannot see what lives inside. I cannot know whether this is a home, a refuge, a passage to somewhere deeper, or an abandonment long settled into stillness. The opening offers presence without disclosure. It holds a boundary I am not invited to cross.

I am drawn to thresholds that cannot be entered. In my scholarly work, I have learned that understanding often arrives at edges rather than centres. The most generative insights emerge when I stand before what I cannot fully access and resist the urge to force entry. This opening asked nothing of me except that I notice it, photograph it, and move on without disturbing what it protected.

The texture of the ground speaks to slow processes. Erosion and compression. The patient labour of creatures whose work remains invisible to those who walk too quickly. The ridges and grooves record movement I did not witness, shaping I cannot replicate. The image becomes a document of accumulated time, of presence that preceded my arrival and will continue long after I have gone.

This photograph sits within my broader practice of ethical witnessing. It asks how we might attend to what the land holds without demanding access. How we might honour depth without extraction. How stillness before an opening can become its own form of respect. The darkness does not owe me its secrets. My role is simply to notice that it exists, to let that noticing change me, and to let that be enough.
Photo Credit: Amy Tucker, 2026