JEFFREY LOVE

CAMPO

I began to photograph the countryside found in the Pátzcuaro, Michoacán region of Mexico in 2018, for no particular reason other than I wanted to get out into the open. Prior to that, I had photographed for a number of years primarily within Pátzcuaro itself, and I started to feel a strong pull to see what I might find beyond the confines of the town.

I walked, hiked, drove, rode horses, and photographed, curious to find in what direction the work would go. A particular thread emerged at one point — I started to realize I was frequently making pictures that involved pathways of one kind or another. It occurred to me that I was moving through those landscapes just as people have for hundreds and thousands of years, and I was often traveling the same roads, walkways and paths they had traveled.

That I would be surprised by this is indicative of how disconnected we've become from the act of moving through a non-urban landscape, an element of life that was at one time primary for all humans on the planet. I do not have the same operative connection that our ancestors once did, but I possess the same genetic make-up. As I walked along the paths and trails, I began to realize I was resonating, likely as they once did, with the primal force of movement and a connection to the natural physical world.

There is something genetically familiar about walking through open land. It gradually became clear that my photographs were an attempt to confirm a connection between that exterior environment and my internal structure — genetic hard-wiring and my particular spiritual/aesthetic orientation.

When I make a photograph that comes from the experience of connecting with the landscape surrounding me, I can also feel a connection to the humans and animals who came along before. It enlarges me spiritually, and I experience a sense of belonging flowing through that connection. When successful, the photograph carries my experience, and it becomes available to the viewer who is open and inclined to receive it.