Having grown up near the relatively bare mountains of southern California, I have long been enticed by the mountains of southern West Virginia: by their densely forested slopes, their tangled roads, their rolling fog. Whenever I drive here, I feel like I am being swallowed by the landscape – but also oddly safe, cocooned, embraced.

As much as I’ve turned my camera toward the people of West Virginia in recent years, I’ve also turned it toward their (and my) surroundings: to the mountains that form a constant, recognizable backdrop for love and loss, hardship and grace. To a place that envelops me every time I visit, one that takes me home within myself.