At 16, six people in my family died and I followed an all encompassing drive to make photographs. I didn't think in words as I worked: photographing friends underneath huge plexiglass sheets splattered with dirt and leaves, or using projected images to light portraits. When I looked at those finished images and saw I’d created the illusion of being buried alive, or ghosts inside people, I realized I was releasing emotions I couldn't articulate.

Twenty four years later, during the Covid-19 pandemic, I've started following a similar wordless drive to paint, draw, sew, and collage on images I took of my family before our lockdown started. As I make this work I am overwhelmed by an appreciation for the histories and struggles and triumphs my family members have lived. Making this work pulls me towards something larger, and brings an awareness of the passing of time, similar to the sensation of speeding down a winding road in a car with my favorite music playing.