What We Carry Home

Few places are as familiar as grocery stores and markets. They may seem ordinary, but look closer and you start to see the map of our lives — what we eat, what we celebrate, what we can afford, what we remember.

I started collecting groceries back in college, though “collecting” makes it sound more official than it was. Really, I was just saving things I couldn’t throw away, a box with a color that stood out, a can with a typeface I liked, a jar whose shape felt too nice to ignore. Mostly, I kept them because they felt beautiful or curious, worth holding onto even if I couldn’t explain why.

​​At first, the collection was small, just a few pieces here and there. But as I traveled it grew quickly, soon taking over kitchen cabinets and piling onto the fridge, edging into every bit of free space. A market in one city, a supermarket in another, each one adding something new. Over time, I began to see these groceries and the stores and stalls that held them as more than just food on shelves. They reflected the people around them, the everyday things bought without a second thought, the little treats slipped into baskets, the products saved for holidays, the packages that tug at memory.

That’s when I began photographing them. Partly it was a way of recording them before the colours faded or a rebrand erased the design people grew up with, but also because they felt worth noticing before they disappeared. A pack of noodles, a jar of spices, a bottle of soda, everyday objects whose beauty rarely makes it past the basket or fridge yet deserves to be seen.

As both photographer and collector, I bring these objects into my studio and reframe them as artifacts. Each becomes subject and storyteller, holding onto memory and identity while pointing to something larger. What fascinates me most is the tension between the universal and the specific. Every store feels familiar yet every shelf is different, shaped by migration, history and community. This project turns the overlooked into the central figure, insisting that the most ordinary objects can hold extraordinary meaning.

I have long imagined showing this work in prints, large and small, alongside stacks of the collection itself. And I want to continue traveling, collecting, documenting. For me, stepping into a grocery store or market is like stepping into a community. To linger there is to be offered a seat at the table, a chance to understand people through what they carry home.