© liz davidson 2006-10 all rights reserved

Beautiful, soft, quiet, Paris in April.... the color of the walls as we walk down the street, especially the places where the buildings have been repaired. What is the history and language of these marks, what is their story, this ancient graffiti, this visual passage of time. They fascinate me. They speak to me of love, of place and a certain kind of silence. Witnesses to other lives and times. There is a strong and enduring presence to these walls and bits of wall that I photograph. And as I work with these images, these marks, a series of lines emerges, a score or notation as if they are singing or waiting to be played and I am happy to let them.

2010

Four days of freezing mist and snow, the sky like dawn or dusk all day, it felt and looked like a parallel universe, the sense and look of an altered state, eerie and beautiful. The blue, silver light was flat yet deep and the contrast of earth, trees and sky remarkably subtle. Where did it end? Where did it start? My eye tied to remember but I didn’t trust it and went back to the house for the camera. I kept trying to follow the line of the horizon, the place I usually orient myself to, but everything kept merging and the color was mesmerizing.

Although I have used photography in my work for years I have not thought of myself as a photographer rather I have used photography as a record keeper. The photos often work themselves into my work but this is the 1st time where the photograph is bare, unadorned and unphotoshopped and unlayered.

Just as the children in the book Narnia, I too stepped through the wardrobe and into another place.

2010