Dear Reader,
I wonder how to describe in an unguarded, expressive way my process of creating photographs. How do I start a conversation about my work? Can I tell you a beautiful story about why I am making this work? When I am in the process of taking photographs, I rely almost exclusively on intuition, shooting from the heart. It is only after the picture is taken, when I step back and let the image wash over me, that I begin to see its meaning.
In these two photographs, pulled together because both have branches of one kind or another, the stories are just below the surface. I remember my grandmother’s hands carefully picking dried-on-the-vine raisins. She used the raisins to make something she called a Poor Man’s pound cake. I haven’t thought about that cake in years, but when I saw the grape stems, I immediately thought of her and that delicious cake. She served the cake to my grandfather and his two buddies, Mr. Butler and Jimmy Gorman, who stopped by for coffee and conversation most every morning. The second picture, taken at George Washington’s Birthplace in Westmoreland County, is connected by memories of my grandparents, too. My grandfather helped plant trees lining the road to the river. Every single time we visited this beach, my grandmother proudly re-told the story of my grandfather’s contribution to this beautiful place.
While these stories are unique to my growing up, they speak to the importance of those foundational years for children. Even though they are presented here as a simple diptych, they are a part of a larger body of work that I am building that deals with the healing and hope for those who grew up with emotional trauma. Those who reach adulthood with all of the external markers of success and yet feel their foundation crumbling. I didn’t realize this, didn’t set out to address this theme, but writing here . . . I can see that this is true.