There is something slightly disquieting about Bill Holderfield’s images. A sense of unease. They are, on the surface, ordinary scenes: a sand-fringed desert highway, a roadside motel bathed in neon light, the wood-panelled facade of a typical midwestern home. Yet each image is permeated with tension. We feel like we’ve stepped into a story mid-frame, caught in the quiet just before the next scene unfolds. It’s this subtle sense of narrative just beneath the surface, that gives Holderfield’s work its charge.