I am fascinated by what’s been termed our Inner Landscape, a dreamlike place where our logical side can’t always fill in the blanks. The Jungian writer Robert Johnson called events in this interior ‘the slender threads of the golden world.’ Though seemingly puzzling and a bit surreal, they inform our conscious lives. These are the narratives I discover as I make photographs and assemble photo collages. Sharp focus or soft, there’s an idea of a composed, surreal scene that might well have appeared in the hours when we dream. I like what a critic once wrote of Gerhard Richter’s blurred paintings: that they were like a phone call with a poor transmission that garbles parts of the conversation. I think sometimes what we can’t quite make out or fully understand offers a more compelling story—one the viewer is invited to complete, even to dream upon.