Matthew Johnson

At Summer’s end my wife and I packed up our Brooklyn apartment and drove north. Congested highways gave way to windy, forest-lined roads. We were trading in the bustle of the city for a slower life, upstate. The skyscrapers and swarms of pedestrians that have become such a motif in my photography were being replaced with rivers and waterfalls, barns and abandoned buildings. I wondered how my work might change now that there wasn’t as much action. I was prone to looking for subtle, relatable moments in the midst of madness.

Now there wasn’t madness at all. In quite a welcomed way, there wasn’t much of anything.

It’s a new story to tell.

One that’s vast, quiet.

One that feels like home.