Danny Jay - "Smelling Bay Leaves in Asphalt"
I've always been interested in how people anthropomorphize nature. When you're living next to the ocean, it feels like everyone around you associates the natural world with joy, happiness, or a carefree lifestyle. The sound of waves crashing equals relaxation; wildflowers growing on the side of the highway are a spark of life. I've had a hard time not seeing anxiety in a landscape, though. Redwood bark grows thick with age. Dry soil invites ground hornets. Strong currents demolish a fragile coastline. The smell of eucalyptus is a tactical distraction. In the woods we've wandered through, it feels like something is hiding from you. I can't help but feel nature yearning for something I can't quite put my finger on.
This body of work is related to a recent move I've made. I went from spending the majority of my time photographing in the forest or on the coast, to being surrounded by people, exploring the rolling hills of San Francisco. I thought being in an urban environment would distract me from this natural unease. Instead, it has made it more clear. Ivy bleeds down from buildings. Pigeons are desperate for loose bread. Prairie grass fills vacant lots like a meadow. People collectively pray to god in skin tight alleys. I make eye contact with some people and we don't need to speak a word. We know the other feels the same way.