"Stivers takes us into alcoholic twilight. Shuddering exiles in watery purgatory, the human figures as well as forests, clouds, plants, works of art and even architecture seem never actually to have existed. . . Each photograph visualizes the anguished lament of the current that runs through him. . . . All of this mirrors his dream books and journals, where the trials of actual experience and his mind's nocturnal dream machinery are indistinguishable. Stivers's pictures are figments of his material philosophy of escape."