Tre Logan is a writer and photographer living in Lexington, Kentucky. He lives just down the road from where the late Ralph Eugene Meatyard used to grind lenses. His work is gritty, raw and intimate. Without trying to be intentionally voyeuristic it gives an insight into the personality and the sensual side of the person in front of his lens.
“It’s Francesca Woodman’s fault. Or I suppose you could just as easily say it’s Sonia Sieff’s, Saul Leiter’s and Peter Lindbergh’s fault as to why I do photography. There is, however, another reason, not entirely inconsistent with the influence of these others; namely, a desire to understand what I will never understand: space and time and light and the bodies and minds that experience these phenomena. The title of Marcel Proust’s sprawling novel sums it up quite well: À la recherche du temps Perdu. I’m on a similar search for lost time, except I’m using a different medium, that of silver halide crystals suspended in gelatin. And when I watch an image magically manifest itself upon the surface of paper in the darkroom, I get the same sensation Proust describes upon dipping a madeleine into lime blossom tea: the past rushes into the present with uncanny surprise.”
