…news photogs are lost souls on the run…proverbial poets without a country…visionaries who give eyes to what others cannot stomach, yet visionaries who are vilified in their own communities. We document the pivotal public watershed events and also the private pain of the nameless.

Our eyes may seem glazed, but they’re bouncing back what dances in front of the lens and reflecting back on memories. Some bring us peace. Some we cannot tear from our brains…they hang on like the suctioning pads of deep sea denizens – they cling to our every sleeping and waking second, retreating into the dark recesses only to emerge again.

Every street we pass is a memory from the past. Every season is its own season of sounds and sights from past packages. Every story is a repetition of a story we have done over and over ad nauseuam.

The joyous images swirl around, surrounded by the darker ones. The lives of all who have presented themselves and their hopes and dreams before our lenses merge, and swirl again. And we keep at it, driven by some compelling force.

Why do we keep this up? Why can we never discard our news persona?

It is an addiction that goes beyond adrenalin rushes, beyond a paycheck, beyond our own understanding of ourselves.. But once tasted, it is never forgotten.