A short essay written for the book Stek by Els Martens, Art Paper Editions 2018.

How do we look at a photograph of a place when there are no anchor points? How do we approach the surface of a landscape, rendered flat in an image, when there is no significant horizon, or when there are no trees for scale? Onto what do we cling our gaze? (Rocks, solid as they may be, are deceptive in size and therefore unreliable.)

Where do our eyes land, coming down from somewhere above?