Considerations of vision—of how we look at the world at large, as well as how we customarily employ photography to document and speak to our surroundings—have long been central to my interests within photography. What do we look at photographically, and what do we ignore? How does the camera both free and constrain our vision? Most recently, I have been looking at the mediation of the camera apparatus itself, separating the viewfinder’s quirks from the world beyond and examining how these glass and plastic forms inform and shape our photographic visions. Histories of looking are embedded in the glass in the form of dust and scratches, etched and painted lines and text discipline and direct our sight. Meant to be looked through, to ostensible scenes beyond, what happens if our vision is arrested at these thresholds?