Fog
Fog does not add anything to the landscape. It takes things away.
Edges dissolve first. Horizons disappear. Distances lose their certainty. What remains are fragments – a tree, a pole, a figure on a narrow road. The world is reduced to planes of grey, to gradients between presence and absence.
Seen through the side window of the Caddy, fog becomes more than weather. It is a filter that strips the landscape of distraction and forces a decision: what is still visible, what is already gone. Movement through fog compresses space. The near and the far collapse into one another. A road sign floats without context. A forest turns into light and shadow. A house emerges only to sink back into whiteness.
In the Fog series of the Rear Seat Diaries, visibility is never stable. Sometimes the image is sharp and silent, sometimes it dissolves into motion. The passing guardrail becomes a horizontal stroke. Trees flicker like afterimages. A solitary figure walking away is swallowed by the blank field ahead.
Fog reveals structure by hiding detail. It simplifies, but it does not romanticize. It creates tension between clarity and loss. What cannot be seen becomes as important as what remains.
These photographs are not about atmosphere. They are about reduction. About the moment when the world withdraws and leaves only its essential lines.