I began visiting the National Parks at the age of three with my family. Now, I go because I want to photograph the landscapes. I want to climb, hike, and camp in the most beautiful places. Every trip is a pilgrimage. While there, life slows down and I become more observant of the sights, sounds, and smells of the Earth. When I leave, I check it it off my list and begin planning my next trip.
All the while, I calculate the impact of driving to a remote location amid our climate crisis. I dread the possibility of idling in long lines of cars, just to see a glimpse of a bear; then I pull over and and I take a photograph.
I cringe at the gift shops full of cheap plastic souvenirs, and the privately run cafeterias and resorts on the grounds of the park; then I buy myself a sticker that supports the conservation work.
I question the definition of wilderness, and what it means to segment out plots of land to be protected, while others are blighted. I am sad and angry about the history of broken treaties, forced removal, and murders of Indigenous people that were perpetrated to create the boundaries of these protected lands.
Every time I visit, I am reminded that the National Parks are manufactured, their borders are contrived, and imply the violence of their creation. And yet, year after year, I return.
I return, because their beauty is undeniable and despite their imperfection, public lands are ours to protect, or loose.
This project grapples with the complex reality of the National Parks and the emotional duality of the awe and horror that exist in and around them.
