“Acts have their being in the witness. Without him who can speak of it? In the end one could even say that the act is nothing, the witness all"
Cormac McCarthy.
An Asian ODYSSEY that has taken me through a vast swathe of territories, from cursed mountain tops to desolate plains and concrete jungles; coups, revolutions, tribal wars, acts of God and ecstatic animist rites of fire, blood and gunpowder.
A life spent following my gut and my emotions, drawn to the down-trodden and the oppressed; the ilk who always welcome you to share fears and laughter, content to know that someone else in a more forgiving place will offer them a chance to exist outside of their harsh reality, someone who will speak of their selfless deeds once they are gone. They are my kind and those moments shared when we feared our hearts would break have been life's most precious gifts. I cherish every hug and tear shed.
Asia continues to nurture me as I search for the sublime and the inevitable links to past worlds that my interactions invoke.
Over time this region has defined me; my pictures are my story; they are who I am.
Without the witness, who can speak of it?
