Nostalgia is made from remarkable days with special people having surprising moments with conversations and experiences that changed our hearts and minds. They are the ordinary hours that later become impossible to return to, when the world felt open and being alive with a new or old friend  connected to nature or the city was more than enough. It's connected to the simple things: wholesome play,  obnoxious humor, reality checks, observations,  exchanging ideas and wisdom,  and simply enjoying  the textures of the living world. Nostalgia simply is our aesthetic life of freedom.

Socks & Shoes began without a thesis, growing instead from a fascination with the expressive language of shoes, stockings and how people style themselves below the knees. The series looks at the peculiar place these objects occupy within feminine culture: intimate yet public, decorative yet functional, capable of communicating personality while sometimes restricting the body wearing them. Photographed across bedrooms, streets, mountains and the built environment, the legs become fragments of character rather than anonymous studies. Styling offers clues about who someone might be, while the surrounding world complicates those clues through dirt, distance, architecture, humor and circumstance. Throughout the series, hosiery and footwear sit somewhere between clothing, ornament and performance. Their surfaces can remain polished or become stained and damaged; shoes designed to transform a body must also carry it through the physical world. The series remains rooted in an attraction and admiration for this visual language, while becoming increasingly attentive to how femininity is constructed, displayed and lived in.

Glass Candy is held together less by subject than by a way of seeing. Bodies, faces and landscapes appear through water, glass, mirrors, heat and other unstable surfaces. Reflections double, features distort, colors bleed and familiar forms become briefly difficult to place. There is a recurring wetness to the work, along with flashes of red, gloss, transparency and light. Some images are soft and seductive, others fractured or abrasive, but they share an attraction to the moment when a photograph begins to slip away from straightforward representation. Much of what appears manipulated is physical. Water bends the image. Mirrors divide it. Glass interrupts it. Light changes what the camera is allowed to see. Glass Candy stays close to that instability, where something can be beautiful and strange at once, and where the surface of an image becomes part of its subject.

Burning Tears was photographed during the rare convergence of the Perseid meteor shower and a severe geomagnetic storm, when auroras became visible over the desert caves I use for my spiritual grounding. There with my father’s ashes, I worked on leaving the human-scaled Mother Earth whilst meditating on Father Time, documenting the space between seconds and minutes, flesh and the cosmic infinite. My attention was set on leaving the human-centric Earth to find myself viewing the stars from the space of time and matter. This was my attempt to look out at the universe, not as a human, but as matter temporarily existing inside it.

Altered States is a collection of images suspended somewhere between cinema, memory and emotional extremity. The series takes its atmosphere from an imagined history of cult films, arthouse theaters and half-remembered black-and-white movies: worlds populated by sharply dressed people behaving in ways that are anything but composed. Across the images, ordinary states begin to rupture. People scream, laugh, cry, feed, thirst, collapse, contort, surrender and appear momentarily overtaken by something larger than their usual selves. The work is less interested in any single emotion than in the point where emotion becomes physical. Pleasure can resemble panic, grief can resemble ecstasy, and exhaustion, desire, fear and relief can become difficult to distinguish from one another. There is a cinematic logic to the world, but no fixed film behind it. Images appear more like fragments from stories that may never have existed, carrying traces of melodrama, cult cinema, psychological disorientation and the fantastic without settling completely into any of them. Bodies, landscapes and occasional objects all participate in the same instability. Reality remains recognizable, but something within it has shifted. Altered States continues to collect those moments when composure gives way and ordinary experience becomes strange, heightened or briefly unknowable.

Mother Earth is a concept we are all familiar with since childhood. She is usually imagined as a warm, all-knowing, self-healing, mysterious and magical being. But what if we were wrong about her this entire time? What if, instead of an older wise woman, we encountered her when she was young and still figuring things out? Maybe she had a thing for Jupiter, while Mars was always up in her business? Maybe she had a secret thing with her friend Venus? She had humor, desire, insecurity and far more personality than we usually allow her. The moon is her pet, a companion she’s had since childhood. The stars are her family and ancestors. And what if she were fascinated by humans? While we moved across her surface, she watched us. She became especially interested in women - their relationships, freedom, emotions, struggles, joys, contradictions, and all else that make them human. There she sits as the gravity for their feet while she wonders what it might feel like to become one herself. Mother Earth imagines humanity from her perspective: a young deity looking at femininity, freedom, desire and longing from the outside in.

I am The Foodie, the world greatest food influencer of all time! I travel the world looking for the most extraordinary food, unforgettable ingredients and the people who really know how to bring together the greatest dishes. There is nothing better than finding a place nobody is talking about yet. A beautifully aged tomato. Bread with just the right bloom. Something charred beyond recognition. A drink you can still taste three neighborhoods later. This weekend I went back to one of my favorite spots and took a few casual photos while there. Truly the best food one could imagine.  Bread-soaked watermelon was to die for - but I also truly loved the brown juice with a splash of house fly. People ask me all the time what I look for in a great meal. I don't know if there is one answer. Texture. Patience. Decay. Heat. A little danger. Mostly I think you know it when you taste it. You'll never see me eating at a Michilen-star restaurant- but you will always see me enjoying five burning Goodyears.

Oneiric begins after the daytime version of life has started to fall away and our nighttime selves remind us how to relax our shadows. People loosen up and plans become less important. The behaviors that make sense during the day give way to curiosity, intimate conversations, experimentation and sometimes a little wickedness or innocent play. Rather than escaping boredom, this series stays with it. An evening might begin with nothing more than driving around, talking, smoking, taking a train or looking for somewhere to go. Without a destination, there is space for something less prescribed to develop. The city becomes quieter at these hours, but the people inside it often become more themselves. Nearby nature opens itself up to exploration. New friends become old friends when we expose our struggles that the sun will never hear about. And we all feel big when we are above it all looking down on that world that suffocated us in the daytime. There is freedom in being out without needing to arrive anywhere. The night can stretch for hours without much happening, yet somehow contain more memories than a crowded room ever could. Oneiric follows that quieter form of abandon: the moments when people stop performing their daytime lives and allow the night to become whatever it becomes.

The Gift Shop is a collection of artist posters and open editions from The Archive, priced under $100. It exists alongside the limited-edition print program, giving collectors another way to live with the work.