Don Hamerman began collecting these baseballs in the winter of 2004-2005. Discovered in the park near his house where he walks his dog daily, they went unnoticed by others. Abject, rejected and forlorn, their state depended on the season of their discovery. Some hid in the high grass, gutted by lawnmowers, or under leaves, rotting, the leather skins long since decomposed. Covered in ice crystals on a February morning or shrouded in summer moss, they all hinted at mysterious pasts. Although he knew that one day he would photograph the burgeoning collection, most sat along a shelf in his studio for nearly a year before the exploration started. At last, he decided to photograph them above a flat field and with deep depth of focus, revealing, as much as he could, their distinct resumes.
See more of Don's work here.