I think there's a way in which matter, all of reality, in fact, speaks to us. It cries for our attention, not in a desperate way, but to direct us towards what's naturally there--a beauty that we need to retrain ourselves to perceive. As we've habituated ourselves to productivity and dulled our senses by megapixels, we no longer see. We are entertained, but lose the gift of boredom and where it leads us. Ironically, for me, this is a slippery slope away from joy. I take pictures because the mundane cries out: a wizened face bespeaks wisdom, rust honors the color orange, and sewer grates sometimes unveil beauty. I take pictures in the hope that I can learn to see again—and perhaps, in some way, to recover joy.