Lacuna

About this series

I have been thinking about my relationship with my ancestors, particularly my mother and my grandmothers. I know that they live on, both in and around me; they shaped me into existence, and their passing reshaped them back into all of existence. Yet I have struggled to feel their presence, and I really want to. I have questions I'm just now living into, and they hold some of the answers. There is healing to do, and I wonder if we can find ways to do it together. We are in a hard time and place, and I want them at my back.

Searching for connection, the only thing I felt with any consistency was absence. Then I heard the poet Andrea Gibson say, “I try to think about God, but that never works.” I don’t believe in God, but I know that Andrea’s right. Thinking about a relationship isn’t the same as being in relationship. Not only that, but being in relationship requires showing up for what is, not what we imagine should be. So instead of pushing absence away as a sign of failure, I started paying attention to when and how it showed up. I made photographs that brought me back to these moments of awareness. I counted each, just as we’re taught to count our breaths from 1-10 and over again while sitting in meditation.

Absence is becoming openness, and in that space I am beginning to hear my ancestors. They, of course, were there all along.

The granularity of the images in this series is purposeful. I am utilizing a visual aspect of digital photography called “noise,” which is usually minimized or erased, to activate the images in ways that feel true to the moments from which they arise. We are all, always, trying to decipher signal from noise. We all miss the mark sometimes. Often the gaps in our understanding are shaped by the expectations with which we approach the questions, and each other. Practicing with this awareness can help us connect. Connection is essential. We need each other.

This series is ongoing.