During World War II my grandfather participated in the removal of the stained glass windows from Chartres Cathedral in France in an effort to save them from destruction by Nazi bombing campaigns (teams of master glass artisans dismantled the hundreds of windows, and soldiers, tradesmen, and laborers with local volunteers crated thousands of glass panels, stowed them in the crypt, and months later—just before German invaders reached Chartres—hauled them across the country to an underground quarry.) This was not an entirely altruistic endeavor on his part, however. As the owner of Conrad Schmitt Studios in Milwaukee Wisconsin, America's largest stained glass studio, an opportunity to examine the exquisite medieval craftsmanship of the cathedral's windows was irresistible.

This story became a part of my family’s lore. In 2013 I set out to visit the cathedral and to see the famous stained glass windows. Upon seeing them, however, I became fascinated by the prismatic play of light being projected upon the interior from the windows rather than the windows themselves. I spent a day photographing this play of light. 

The light in the cathedral was not static but shifted with the time of day (and one can surmise the seasons of the year) changing the experience of the interior space.

Some of these circular projected forms suddenly appeared and then just as quickly faded away having lifespans of seconds or moments. Others slowly traveled over the interior geography of columns, vaults, and floors. The structure acted as a massive camera obscura as light from the bright orb of the sun passed through the 12th century Medieval optics of the stained glass windows and was projected into the vast interior.

I was aware of the Gothic aesthetics of light where it is analogous to divinity, purity, and cosmic perfection, and wondered how many throughout the centuries, like me, had contemplated the phenomena of these projected short-lived orbs of light, ignoring the more didactic lessons in the glass above.