Like a sculptor, Wingfield reveals forms within the landscape. Light moves through her images as though inhabiting three-dimensional space, dancing between cracks and unveiling hidden angles. She describes her practice as "a kind of pas de deux with light." The desert, she says, "carves a spaciousness into the soul" — and the choice of that word is no accident. It embodies the sculptural quality that pervades the entire body of work. Brought to life by the elements, Deities inhabit this numinous landscape as though guarding a pathway to the divine.
There is no human presence in these photographs. Wingfield wants to return to what existed before we appeared — to spaces uncorrupted by human hand, where the world is still entirely itself. In these places, the boundaries of the self seem to dissolve.
As Terry Tempest Williams wrote:
"Every pilgrimage to the desert is a pilgrimage to the self. There is no place to hide and so we are found."
For Wingfield, the silence of the desert is not the absence of sound but a reconnection with one's inner music.