Every photograph is in part, a self-portrait. I’ve photographed all the things that photographers do – burned out buildings, homeless folks, bare trees in the wind, grandparents, football games, and the rest. I don’t know what it is that makes a bare tree into a self-portrait, but it is. Where words fall short in describing myself, the photograph speaks volumes. It describes the tree in great detail but it can also be looked at as a symbol. The leaves may be gone, branches craggy, and trunk standing solid against the sky. In this sense, in resilience, isolation, and contrast, the tree is me. The roots are my feet, trunk is a skinny torso, limbs are outstretched arms, and branches are aging fingers with knobby knuckles. A photograph is a visual poem – it says as much through what is missing as it does in its myriad details.