A Method of Mourning
Her death was a month shy of my twenty-first birthday. Self determination kept me from accepting my emotions. I would be forced to critically examine my faith if these feelings were acknowledged and release the ultimate question that was under layers of control, perfectionism, and performance.
You see, I was raised to never ask God why. The answer, in my mind, would be the medicine for the pain.
I did not set out to make this type of work. In fact the subject matter feels too personal for me to photograph or even reveal. I never wanted to make work about my mother or about her death. Something happened when I turned the camera on myself. I was forced to investigate, analyze, and criticize myself as I would any other subject matter. Even with the grandest intentions, the work slowly evolved into what it really needed to say, or what I needed to say. It became my personal method of mourning.