For this body of work, I integrated myself into a culture I have been fascinated with since childhood: mudding.
     The first time I went mudding was at night; it was sensory overload. I could feel the rumbling of the trucks as they passed to get to the mud pit. The smell of their exhaust filled the area within minutes and the dust they kicked up made me glad I had brought a bottle of water. Some trucks driving through the pit got stuck while others were able to shake themselves free.
     Someone was kind enough to go out of their way to offer me a seat in their truck. We climbed up in an old, jacked up Chevy, so rusted that one of the doors wouldn’t even close, and off we went. With no seatbelts to strap us in, getting thrown around was inevitable. That truck found every hole in the pit and the possibility of getting stuck had everyone’s adrenaline flowing, especially mine. But this sport isn’t restricted to trucks. I saw everything from dirt bikes and 4 wheelers to kids playing with their Tonka trucks and people wrestling in the mud.