In the photographic archives of my childhood with my single-mother, we have a number photos captured by various artist friends; there are more proper portraits of us, dressed for the occasion, posed and in focus, yet this is the one I seem to come back to again and again. I think it’s the way we’re both dressed, the fact that I have no memory of this apartment, but how much I see my mom in the decorating, how I’m mimicking her on the phone hanging onto my doll at my side just like I’m at hers... I don’t know if this photo influences how I shoot, or if what I love about it is that recording-of-life-thing I strive for when photographing families in their homes. What I know is when my mother died in late 2017, in the days leading up to her last, the brief times I wasn’t by her side I was home tearing things apart looking for this photo. This photo - yes, the tangible thing I can hold in my hands, but more importantly, the way it makes me FEEL - is a representation of what drives me to photograph families the way that I do. Of all the items belonging to my mother that I'm left with, this photo is far more valuable to me. It is among my greatest desires that other children have these images of themselves when they are grown.
Your home need not be magazine-worthy, your clothes need not match, what speaks to me as an artist, and what I want for you, is your story, your truth, in all of it's love-filled forms.