Perfect is not a word

As a kid, I was afraid of the dark. My parents would go on trips, and even with four older siblings our house sometimes felt cavernous and unsettling. Going through boxes of photos,I can imagine looking at that house from outside. Nice big home. Nice cars. Nice things. Big family. Very religious. High standards. Arguments. Substances. Lots of money. Then none. Eventually, a divorce. Leaving boxes filled with genuine laughter, tenderness, privilege...but also grief. Though, from the outside, perfect.

This work contrasts my emotional journey into adulthood with photographs taken by my family along the way. By separating figure from background and recomposing fragments of locations, symbols and time periods, the images become imperfect documents of the past, and yet perhaps more truthful about how it felt, and who it made me.