30" x 36" Permanent Pigment Ink Jet
The five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance
Having grown up in the Georgia countryside, I spent a great deal of my childhood helping my grandparents in the family garden and watching my grandmother inevitably can and preserve the fruits and vegetables grown there. That experience created an appreciation for, not only family, but also seasons, farmland and the preservation process.
Over the past few years, I have suffered the loss of my aunt, grandmother, grandfather, father, and brother. As a result, I watched the garden my grandparents tended wither, and the home that held so many beautiful memories molder until it became a carcass the vultures had picked clean. I witnessed as odd decisions were discussed and made regarding the distribution of my father and brothers possessions. Which grandson would acquire which golf clubs, and who would inherit the dartboard, for example. As is typical after a loved one’s death, our family busied itself engaging in the process of dividing up the valuables and not-so valuables after each loss. We grieved, we mourned, we cried, and we sorted piles and piles of things.
This led me to ponder the ritual of preserving goods at the end of the farming season. My grandparents would harvest what had ripened for canning and leave the rest “for the birds.” With the passing of my family members, however, I found myself wanting to keep pieces of even what was left “for the birds,” in an attempt to hold onto as much of the essence of these people that I could find in the rubble. Something as simple as a stack of my brother’s t-shirts became too valuable for me to part with. They still held his scent and that was enough for me.
The common philosophical debate regarding death typically rests on the question of what happens to the soul; is there life after death? Yet, the intent of this body of work is to meditate on what we leave behind. Ghost hunters and antique dealers alike stand by the notion that the objects we own contain a piece of our spirit. If this is true, then how do we decide which bits of our loved ones to keep and which bits to discard? Anyone who has lost someone dear has faced this dilemma. My grandmother canned fruits and vegetables to preserve their nutrients for future consumption; I use the medium of photography to “can” life for future reference. This body of work is my attempt to preserve as much of my loved ones as possible, as well as to help preserve the loved ones of others who generously participated in this project.
The five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance
Having grown up in the Georgia countryside, I spent a great deal of my childhood helping my grandparents in the family garden and watching my grandmother inevitably can and preserve the fruits and vegetables grown there. That experience created an appreciation for, not only family, but also seasons, farmland and the preservation process.
Over the past few years, I have suffered the loss of my aunt, grandmother, grandfather, father, and brother. As a result, I watched the garden my grandparents tended wither, and the home that held so many beautiful memories molder until it became a carcass the vultures had picked clean. I witnessed as odd decisions were discussed and made regarding the distribution of my father and brothers possessions. Which grandson would acquire which golf clubs, and who would inherit the dartboard, for example. As is typical after a loved one’s death, our family busied itself engaging in the process of dividing up the valuables and not-so valuables after each loss. We grieved, we mourned, we cried, and we sorted piles and piles of things.
This led me to ponder the ritual of preserving goods at the end of the farming season. My grandparents would harvest what had ripened for canning and leave the rest “for the birds.” With the passing of my family members, however, I found myself wanting to keep pieces of even what was left “for the birds,” in an attempt to hold onto as much of the essence of these people that I could find in the rubble. Something as simple as a stack of my brother’s t-shirts became too valuable for me to part with. They still held his scent and that was enough for me.
The common philosophical debate regarding death typically rests on the question of what happens to the soul; is there life after death? Yet, the intent of this body of work is to meditate on what we leave behind. Ghost hunters and antique dealers alike stand by the notion that the objects we own contain a piece of our spirit. If this is true, then how do we decide which bits of our loved ones to keep and which bits to discard? Anyone who has lost someone dear has faced this dilemma. My grandmother canned fruits and vegetables to preserve their nutrients for future consumption; I use the medium of photography to “can” life for future reference. This body of work is my attempt to preserve as much of my loved ones as possible, as well as to help preserve the loved ones of others who generously participated in this project.