statement

statement

I could not see my mother after she had died somewhere in Washington D.C. Until the day she died, no one knew where she had lived for the past twenty-five years.
As much as her life has been a personal novel, full of fantasy and fiction, I felt forced to create my own fantasies about her disappearance.
By chance, I got into weekend sales and auctions, where I learned about the family stories involved, and began to understand that what was happening here was fare more than a purely commercial act. I understood that the families in grief were mourning not only their loved ones, but also the spaces where they had lived together.
Over the course of two years, I joined these events and made their gried mine. In the beginning, I just took photos of the almost monastic homes where the departed had once lived, but later I slipped into their personalities and began playing their roles, wearing their clothes, interacting with their spaces. The camera static, life moving ahead.