Dad at Bat, 2024. Inkjet Print of Lumen in tree, 30 in. x 20 in.
Grown to hold the thoughts, the feelings, and the aches that weep for a shine, a shimmer. False promises that we would be stronger for it, pretending it all away. What we bear shows no matter how deep the roots rest, they twist and crawl against the surface. Secret to none except the pretender. To maintain and whither or unravel and grow
Sirens (Grandpa Pat in Vietam), 2024. Cyanotype prints and thread, 30 in. x 40 in.
Laid upon the gravel all the same. Not a difference is seen from one seed to the other—unknowingly of what's to come or what is to be. We shift from how we appear, what we desire, how we find breath. Before long, some began to feel unlike the others, growing with a twist, an anomalous bloom, or weathered more than the rest. Yet, we all feel the same warm, touchless touch of the sun. Following the seasons until knowing what's to be known, what to be had.
We all felt the sun
“Because of her, is you.” -Grandpa Pat speaking about his late wife, Nancy, in a letter to me.
Nancy’s Rocker
Desires and Blooms, 2024. Inkjet Printed Fabric, Lumen Print, Cord, Clothespin, and Nails, 24 in. x 36 in.
We are told the earth will take us back when our feet no longer press the dirt apart. The body tears the life from where it lays with rot. It is not by choice; the sickness weeps from its pores, wasting away all that passes and lies. Will I ever be laid to rest