The great thing about growing up in the Midwest was my threshold for wonder was set so low. Imagine coming from California where the coast is a ragged pageant that complements and competes with the rugged spectacle of the Sierras. Or perhaps starting in New York City where the variety and oddity of people would forever impair your sense of surprise. Far better to have begun in a place of subtle beauty and humble folk.

My initial departure from "American Standard" was a semester in Costa Rica counting moths. "Kidnapped" from formal field work by hippies in a VW bus, I learned one could subsist on curiosity, patience and sign language ("reduction in standards" has been added to the list). Experimenting with my first 35 mm camera, I got such practical lessons as color shift under foliage and the hazard of underexposure in bright light. Trial and Error became my great tutors.

I was diverted from my teaching career by a summer course in woodcut printmaking at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. A great passion was born and it improved my photography. The formal art education that followed left profound influences on my composition and color sensibility.

Forever ruined for corporate cubicles, I departed America again; this time to see Kipling's world... India and the Himalayas. Landing in New Delhi at midnight and seeing spectral figures in flapping rags illuminated by streetside fires was revelatory. The insulating veil of American luxury was parted. Half a dozen people froze to death that night in the capital. I was shocked and dazzled by this parallel universe. I spent four months photographing Kashmir, Ladakh, Nepal and Rajasthan. Some of my images were lost when I tried to mail film home, unaware that the poverty was so desperate, postal workers would steal uncancelled stamps off packages. I am grateful that India came early in my life. Everything afterwards has seemed easy.

The pattern of my travel has been established: living out of a backpack in places where I don't speak the language, immersed among the locals. The backpack has increased in weight over time as I've added more camera gear. The quality of the photographs has improved. The fly-studded meat piles are less hypnotic and I get more intimate portraits of strangers. My trips have taken me to Bali, Bolivia, Burma, Canada, Chile, Costa Rica, Greece, Guatemala, Honduras, India, Italy, Java, Mexico, Morocco, Nepal, Nicaragua, Pakistan, Peru, Portugal, Spain, Sumatra, Switzerland, Trinidad, Turkey and Venezuela and the great American West.

I hope you enjoy these photos and consider them compensation for enduring malaria, parasites, bus buttock callouses, Indian pop music and not owning a lawn mower...

I do.

David Page