In this project, I seek to explore the relationship between memory, the home and loss, by photographing my grandmother in the home my father grew up in.

Most summers were spent at my grandparents house in Denmark. I spent many hours dreaming, exploring the beach and picking plums. It was idyllic, nigh on perfect. It was home. A respite from my other home, full of pain and conflict.

After my granddad died, the house echoed with a tangible loneliness. They had been together for over 60 years. She and I would cry together.

Years passed and life went on but the house remained, and remains, unchanged.

I used to think of her and my grandfather as a unit, neither one separable from the other.

My grandmother still bakes her own bread every day. She is 86 now.

This is an ode to her.