Sunk
It has been said that to be a voyeur it is essential that the other person is unaware of being watched. Thus, one must remain invisible, minimising the risk of being caught. One is both a spectator, excluded from the scene surveyed, yet also linked to what is before him, sharing a private, supposedly unseen moment.
These brief moments glanced through open curtains as I walked my dogs, became like theatre to me. I would wonder what the person was watching on TV, what they were cooking, what they were arguing about. As the weeks progressed, it became less about the act of looking, of photographing, and more about the act of doing. My regular excursions were always an exciting part of my day. What would I find? Would I get caught? By design, I was always close to those pictured, adding a fascinating tension to the actual photography, and resultant images.