Hotel World

I made these over years of constant travel, sometimes several countries in a week. Waking in yet another room, I could never say where I was. Every room is the same — the five-star standard and its cheap imitations erase all geography. Each frame is a different hotel somewhere in the world; together they collapse into one average room, outside place and time.

In these anonymous interiors my reflection keeps appearing: a figure studying the room and itself, trying to work out where I am and who I am. The sameness outside turns the attention inward. The other reality of the title is not the hotel — it is the stream of a mind left alone in nowhere.

Black and white flattens the difference between rooms and slows everything down. I kept the blur and the snapshot haste, so each picture holds a fleeting, solitary moment.