I was going through some old things recently and came across this photograph, Three Wet Kids. I think it was taken in '88 or '89 while living in Michigan, just before moving to Switzerland. These children were on their own and spoke little English. It's out of focus and harshly lit, but I like it. I read an article on one of my favorite Photographers, Richard Avedon, where Avedon describes a photograph he made while on vacation in Sicily... "Technically amateurish, an almost unprintable negative, but from the moment I took it I had some inarticulate sense that the image mattered to me. There was something autobiographical about it- in that boy, his smile, his overeagerness, and his shoulders thrown back so violently and vulnerably." That's how I felt with these three kids, turning their gaze briefly, curiously, toward me before running back down the beach. It was a fleeting encounter but has endured in my memory and still speaks to me of strength and vulnerability.
I have learned to pay attention to images that matter to me, to acknowledge they are important without knowing why.


