Sometimes texture is merely implied, rather than fully revealed. Such is the case here. This trio of hikers almost seem to be meditating as they rest on the river-bank and gaze into the heavy woods on the other side. I don’t describe the texture of these trees in this image. I underexpose the trees by aiming my spot meter on the brightly illuminated hair of the hikers instead. Only the branches that hang out in the light over the narrow river are clearly seen. The rest of the trees recede into darkness, offering an abstracted texture of barely seen tree trunks, leaves and branches. I use texture here to express nature as both intricate and mysterious.

Someone has placed old bottles and a dream-catcher in the window of an abandoned gas station on Route 66 in Newberry Springs, California. The subject of this picture is what is in the window. But it is the context for that subject that makes the image work as expression. And that context is based largely on textures. The rotting wood window frame and peeling wall, revealing an old coat of paint, are both rich in texture. They are redolent with age and time. It is texture, more than anything else that tells the story of abandonment here.

I created this image of a sun-kissed, crushed and rusting boiler as a metaphor symbolizing the end of the age of steam power. It is a virtual map of textures. The boiler itself is a smooth and silky golden color, except for streaks of rust and a long row of round industrial rivets. The deep red hollow indentation is abstracted – its texture can only be imagined, not seen. The light red crushed ridge of metal is a texture in itself – we can almost feel the damage with our fingers. The shadowed area on the far left of the picture is seriously rusted, offering a coarse and unforgiving texture. The boiler no longer works. It is in a junkyard, and has become essentially irrelevant. No matter how sensuous its texture and color maybe, it, like the age of steam it represents, is gone forever.