David Habercom


I stage dramatized scenes, photograph in series and accompany them with a fictional narrative that hangs on the wall as part of the art. I am a photographer and writer, having trained at the Iowa Writers Workshop, taught college English for ten years, and worked as a freelance writer for eight.

I want to go to a place where photography cannot go on its own — into the realm of Mystery. The photographic image alone is utterly banal, all surface and no more; literally, absolutely, resolutely no more. I want to dive beneath surfaces, deliberately, purposefully, and in control. So, I have called out the only other medium in which I have some talent; not words or letters as labels or “design elements,” but words as narrative, words as story, words as interior journey. Not quite poetry, not quite fiction, and more like invitations to an underworld.

Mystery, after all, resides in meanings, not on surfaces, hard, glossy, solidified by the stupid lens. Mystery hides in darkness, and words can take us there. When the world goes dark, the camera closes its eye. But words continue to whisper in our ears, call to our unconscious, and stir up dangerous possibilities.