I grew up in the South, but spent most of my adult life in Evanston, Il. Years ago in Alabama, I had lunch with my mother and one of her friends. When the friend heard that I lived near Chicago, she looked at me with alarm, took my hand and said, “Honey, when you comin’ home?” These photographs are an answer to her question. At the time, I silently thought, “Never”. But apparently, she knew something I hadn’t yet learned. I did need to go home. I needed to visit the landscapes in my head and find both the loved and the unloved.