I often ask myself the age-old question: "If a tree falls and no one is around, does it make a sound?" but in a different context. "If something happens in complete darkness, does it really happen? Does it move? Does it have life?" We must not be afraid of these questions simply because the blanket of night has been pulled in front of us, but rather see that they are worth being examined with care and control.

Artists such as Ansel Adams glorified the landscape as a rich God-like entity. Confusion and questions do not exist in Adams's work because all the information is prevalent in the photograph. Even Richard Misrach's night photography somewhat glorifies the landscape as a huge beautiful and visible mass. Rich detail is present in every direction. The horizon is crisp and clear as though it were three o'clock in the afternoon. I, in turn, feel as though glorifying the landscape at night should be carefully limited. If all areas of the landscape at night are exposed, the viewer is handed all the answers to the unknown.

The interest in the nighttime landscape lies in the boundaries created by darkness, not when they are broken down. Once these lines have disintegrated the landscape is merely a glorified mass once again. My ideas center around letting those barriers coexist while I'm out taking photographs so that they may translate onto the final print. I aim to give the viewer a chance to peer into a world that exists to most people as a moment that is as brief as turning a page in a book.