"...And you cannot step upon ground:
Your leg plunges somewhere
It should not, it never should be
Disappears, and waits to be struck
Anywhere between sole and kneecap:
For when the kudzu comes
The snakes do, and weave themselves
Among its lengthening vines
Their spade heads resting on leaves
Growing also, in earthly power
And the huge circumstance of concealment..."
-Outtake from "Kudzu" by James Dickey
Palimpsest
After 13 years away I moved back to the town where I grew up to take a break from constant travel and to re-connect with family. My wife and I sold our van, bought a house, and settled in to the deep south eager to experience a slower pace of living, but knowing full well that we didn't quite belong. Despite the many recognizable faces and places, my relationship to them had changed. As is everyone who leaves home and then returns, I was a different person. The town changed too, having grown in size with a continuously re-made skyline and a ballooning population we felt increasingly alienated from.
One feature that still felt familiar was the kudzu. A sure sign you're in the southeastern states, kudzu vine is a quickly growing invasive plant first introduced to the US from Asia in the 1800s as an ornamental addition to the home garden. Later used as an erosion mitigation, the vine found ideal growing conditions in the hot, wet, humid environment of the south and quickly overtook huge swaths of land. Entire trees can be engulfed in the vine, eventually dying as they starve from lack of sunlight. Capable of growing up to a foot per day, kudzu is known for its stranglehold on untouched structures. Buildings and vehicles, if left for too long, may be overtaken and reduced to little more than undulations underneath a suffocating quilt of leaves. Even as a child I found the structures made by its overgrowth interesting. They appeared like non-threatening monsters, slowly moving across the landscape searching for the next structure to patiently devour alongside the highway.
Photographed in near infrared, Palimpsest is a body of work made while considering the strangeness of a place I was once intimately familiar with.