A Private Drift

I spend a long time looking at how I live. Often I do not know where a day is drifting. Following that not-knowing instead of erasing it — that is what I call drift.

The camera changes the course of the drift, a little at a time. Move closer, or step back. I step aside before pointing the lens.

The photographs do not form a single story. Scenes that look like fact and scenes that seem invented are placed at the same height. Between one image and the next there is always a gap, and I do not fill it.

I gave these private things Latin names — Celosia cristata, Glacies domestica, Homo sapiens at a window. The language of classification, laid over what refuses it. The last one I could not place at all. Taxonomy has a name for that too: incertae sedis — of uncertain placement.