I remember steel.

Generations of steel.

My father, my grandfather, myself.

Steel was a member of my family.



I followed many before me: graduated high school and then into the mills. I finally had the opportunity to enter the strange shaped corrugated buildings and see the liquid metal that lit the night sky red throughout my childhood.



The draft separated me from the mill taking me to Europe. It was there that I made the decision not to return to the mill but to study art.



Five years later, steel again became a member of my family along with a wife and child. For a decade I worked the steel mills in Pittsburgh. I remember the massive industrial landscapes, the blast furnaces, the coke ovens, and the river barges at night. I remember the blooming mills that rolled blindingly illuminous blocks of steel. I photographed.



I watched steel die. I photographed.

The landscape was changing. I photographed.

As a tribute to my heritage, I photographed.

For the family album, I photographed.

For remembering steel, I photographed.