I imagine a character who is tracing the fragments of her many lives; it occurs to me that I am this character, who has lived these fragments and wound the threads of their stories from one continent to the next; who has started again and again in unmarked places, travelled the edges of things, and walked the cusp between before and now so many times; who has been lonely and alone on the side of a wind swept hill, or who has found herself at the crest of a cliff peering over the brackish waters of the Pacific, the Atlantic, the Mediterranean; who has collected mementos from all of these places, as though they together might begin to form the landscape of her history, one undefined without place, but always imbued with meaning; who attaches herself to trivial things because they become that meaning: the hills and the clouds, the sheep, her animals, rings, and particles of matter.

I have been all of these places as all of these people, and crafted an identity around such experiences, each aspect influenced by each new encounter. Who am I without these tokens; the images now, scratched or lost to time, which mark the places I have been and define me as they are at once undefinable in the ephemeral nature of the photograph. What is permanence, but the impermanence it suggests? For we could not have one without the other; these places could not exist without the suggestion of their loss, as land is to time, as time is to memory.