White Mountain Winter is collaboration between myself and the machine to describe scenes that are real, or were. Yet perhaps now foreign, or out of time, or far away. I provide the seed of a dream I remember, and trust the machine to help make it real again.

I grew up in a town much like some of these, homes dispersed throughout the valley beneath the shadows of the mountains rising around. This is a tribute to the memory of wintertime in that place; bleak, cold, grey, with the light seemingly always fading. Yet at the same time, the feeling of calm, solace, peace resonating through. Exposed to the mountain elements, yet protected by them. A delicate arrangement, but essential.

The seed of magic I remember is present in the experience of falling snow at dusk. Large flakes tumbling down and blanketing everything, no end in sight. The most striking thing is the silence. The fallen snow absorbing all distraction, insisting that your focus be sharpened to a singularity; right there, right then.

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