Where Shadows Cease

I have always dreamt in black and white. Until recently.

The rare percentage of people who have been documented to dream in black and white were either born prior to the rise of color television or had no access to it. And those exposed to color television dream in color. I’m an anomaly.

I was born the year broadcast television transformed to “living color” and witnessed monochrome programs magically transform into reds, greens, yellows and blues. I was awestruck by the implausible appearance of these vivid hues, which became imbedded in my memory as the most perplexing and fantastic canvas of my childhood. What’s more, my family owned a television business and a Zenith Chromacolor TV blazed in every room of our home. Yet still, I viewed the world in black and white.

My colorless reality was cemented at the age of four when I suffered a trauma that sparked years of severe night terrors. These debilitating nightmares dissipated in my teens, but as an adult returned following the tragic death of my mother. In attempt to cope with my loss, I replicated my unconscious monochrome visions on film using a collection of hand-made cameras and lenses that are frequently unpredictable and technically challenging. The cameras are primarily made out of plastic, vintage camera parts and random household objects and the single element lenses are molded out of plastic and rubber. Learning to overcome their extensive limitations has required me to rely on instinct and intuition – the same tools that are key when trusting in the unseen.

In the wake of unimaginable events, a mirage of “living colors” has bled into my monochrome realm. Have I surrendered to a distant truth? Escaped reality? Or both? The answer lies deep within my dreams.

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