In 2016, I was given a Brownie Hawkeye camera. Sometimes I take it with me places. I don't feel pressure; I take pictures of whatever moves me. An amateur relief from the burden of language. There is no theme. Composition is the only craft element I know how to think about —color and light, lines and shapes next to each other. I don't think about the kind of film I use; I research it and cannot remember its properties by the time I click the square gray button. Months go by. I mail the film off to a developer in Portland and they email the photographs back to me. It's a way to keep surprise in my life. When I receive the images, I've forgotten the things I tried to capture. As much as the images reflect a material moment, they also reflect an earlier version of my mind. I reacquaint myself with whatever I was.