Homeland - Ice
I spent the first twenty years of my life growing up in Wisconsin which I like to call South Canada or The Frozen Tundra. When you grow up in a place with a long winter your relationship with the cold becomes very intimate. It is something to fear but also something to embrace. I recall many times walking home alone at dusk upon the lake behind my house after ice skating all day with friends. The ice would creak and surge, threatening. You knew you were close to home but there was always that sense of urgency to get home before you got frostbite or worse. Some days we would fall in or dare each other to skate across thin ice near the islands. We would run into a friends house on the shore, throw our clothes into the drier and head back out again when they were hot from the warm air pushing out the frigid dampness.
Now living in Colorado I find water where I can. In the winter the stream behind my house connects to the enormous canyon down the road and this frozen stream has become a laboratory for my looking and exploring. The textures, the images in the ice are constantly changing and keep me once again intimately engaged, fascinated. My daughter watches me fall in after balancing on wet stones or lying upon the cold surfaces getting my images. So we go home, swap into dry clothes and go back out again.