4 Sides of The Table

My mother died with a patch of sunlight on her hands. Since I could no longer make pictures of her, I photographed her best friend June, grateful to be with someone connected to my mother. June became the anchor for the rest of the images to rely on.

In the spring of 2017, my mother died in an empty room with a patch of sunlight on her hands. Her best friend June was at her bedside reading poetry aloud. That image has stayed with me ever since. Though I did photograph my mother during her final week that picture is not one I ever took. Since I could no longer make pictures of her, it seemed natural to want to photograph June. I photographed her hands, her legs, from the back, from the front, partial views etc. feeling I could convince myself she was my mother more easily by photographing her in parts rather than in showing her whole figure. During the months that I was visiting June, her daughter unexpectedly passed away. I thought after that she might not want to continue our time together taking pictures, but she did. The camera gave us the freedom we needed to imagine we belonged to each other.

One day I arrived early, and I couldn’t go straight in. I had about 10 minutes in which I could do something, even if it was just to stay put and sit in the car. I noticed some flowers near where I had parked and decided to pick some and bring them to her. The flowers uprooted easily, and the earth was quite dry. In my hands the flowers looked less special, and I questioned whether to give them to her or leave them on the roadside. The 10 minutes passed, and I felt grateful for having had the extra time. 10 minutes is not long, but while waiting, during that unpressured time the intensity of love I have for my mother’s best friend became apparent and stunned me. I think this quality of pause is needed for one’s capacity for feeling to surface and I appreciated having the reminder. I strive to create this experience in my work in simple and spare ways believing in the possibility to summon an emotional charge through a picture of an empty chair, sunlight coming in through the window, an old person’s hands, or everyday household tasks. I am interested in using my personal story, surroundings and immediate objects to draw out a wide range of responses that otherwise may be left unrealized; held within a viewer.

The collective pressures of war, hate, displacement, and environmental chaos in the midst of varied wise and compassionate efforts weighs heavy. My wish as an artist is to create a body of work that can in some way even if only momentarily offer a pause and a prayer for these current times. In the making of 4 Sides of The Table the healing and found respite experienced yet unplanned for between June and myself in our homes is a microcosm linked to the ever-present atmosphere of sorrow and love.