just walk into places anymore, such as office buildings. Municipal government set up metal detectors at the entrance to their buildings and City Hall was cordoned off to the public completely, with sentries carrying automatic weapons. So I was very relived to get out and be in another place. I was eager to see a society that isn't in the middle of this craziness, that isn't in the process of shutting itself down so completely. Living in a country that thinks itself as-and is largely perceived to be-the lone superpower in the world is a heavy burden for its citizens, whether or not they realize it. It was a breath of fresh air coming to Groningen. I was excited to go into every nook and cranny and see what I could see. I remember, the first day my interpreter/aide asked me what I would like to do, where I would like to go. I randomly pointed to a houseboat on a canal. We went onboard and just started taking pictures. Then we were invited inside by the owners to take more pictures. Having just come from New York, this was a revelation to me. People just didn't invite you into their homes like that, especially after finding you poking around the premises. In the end, my working title for my contribution to Promised Land was "An Absence in the Presence of Things." While I was invigorated by this openness, and my ability to look at everything, I felt that people in Groningen were shut off from the special quality of their own reality. As the assignment prophesized, I got to see things "so common that even the inhabitants hardly notice them anymore." I
would argue that people everywhere are blind to their own reality. I happen
to have made these pictures in Groningen.MN: Could you tell something about your background as a photographer and about your work?
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