By the beginning of the eighties, I realized that the visual problems that drove my work throughout most of the seventies had, in fact, been solved. I decided to make a radical change in my work. I wanted to have a new challenge, which was to deal with landscape.
At the same time, I made a radical change in my life: I got married. My wife, Ginger, and I were both passionate fly fisherman, and began spending time in Montana, where the fishing was glorious, and fell in love with the state, and decided to move there.
I realized that I could take a picture that wasn't a tourist picture of the city, but it was a picture that embodied cultural perceptions. So, I wanted to become familiar with the land, to the point where I began having perceptions about it, and so, for two years, didn't photograph it. I hiked it, and cross country skied on it, and fished on it, and just experienced it on different days, in different light, until I felt a greater clarity about what I wanted to do and began taking pictures.
When I look at this picture, I think about the relation of the land to the sky. And that the land and the sky are not continuous, that they're made of different material, and that, somehow, this comes across in the picture—that there's this sense of the sky being behind the land. And I think one of the ways this is conveyed is by the way the clouds are placed.