Born in London, Stockton’s family emigrated to the United States when he was nine years old. As a teen, his immigration status changed and he was thrust into the uncertain, exploitative world of those without papers. The anxiety of living between homelands clearly manifests itself in Stockton’s lonely, unpeopled, topsy-turvy photographs, but his art is too vibrant and playful to be bleak. His meditation practice and interests in Buddhist philosophers such as Philip Kapleau and Thich Nhat Hahn inject a patience and polestar into the otherwise manic works. These landscapes also exude a deep quixotic humor, and though they have a graphic-like construction, the images are never straightforward or reliable. Stockton prowls the unromantic alleyways, weedy fields, and forsaken lots of Milwaukee and transforms them into dizzying spaces that both answer and refute, that are seen and look back, and remind one of the duality of Cervante’s last knight who “had fortune in his age to live a fool and die a sage.”