Every morning at eight o’clock, I would find myself in my car and stuck in traffic. Exactly where I was stuck and what was around me was not of my choosing. It was the traffic light at the crossing that went red and so, chose the place where the inspiration for my art work arose. Sitting on the seat of my car, I found myself an uninvited guest who looked out the window and became witness to the morning ritual of the human being in my photographs. The music that created the mood of my inspiration was equally not of my choosing. It was the local radio that decided what kind of mood would be created in that moment, when I, a curious but uninvited guest, would witness her routine. Sometimes, the local station would play classical music, adding a heightened level of elegance and grace to her movements. Sometimes, the music played would be pop and the mood would be one of hope. Hope against hope. The kind of determined hope that is learned and is a habit. Everything was there, put in place and ready for me to watch, again and again, the performance of waking up as acted out by the person I watched out the window of my car.
