The impetus for my working with quarries started before I discovered or had access to one. Scars in the landscape serve as metaphors for humanity's abuse of the planet. The earliest, generative impulse came from raw soil exposed along roadways. In the mid-80s, I had access to the quarry on Rock Bridge road, owned by a friend of a friend. Later, I've used the still-active quarry on Station Camp Rd, the one slowly eating away Pilot Knob. Shown here are a few from each series.