My work began as a personal narrative about mourning the loss of my dad while he was still alive, and progressed into an exploration of grief, memory, and time.

It all started with a piece of carpet. Burnt into the green pile were traces of hot cigarette ash that fell to the ground as my dad fell asleep after long days working in the factory. I found the discarded remnant rolled up in his garage after a remodel in 2021. I don’t know why the only portion of the carpet they saved from their bedroom was the piece that was the most damaged, but I believe I was meant to find it. 

Since then the work has morphed into a conversation. Sometimes one-sided as his illness progressed and the ability to articulate his thoughts became more and more difficult. It is a reconciliation between father and daughter. A rewriting of history through documentary photography. An attempt to be as truthful as possible, knowing my truth is going to be as subjective as a photograph. In this work, I constantly play jump rope with the ideas of authority and exploitation because I know there are things he would not want to be shown in a public setting, that I would not want to be shown.

Alcohol and cigarettes were always my dad’s mechanisms to pass the time. The byproducts of these addictions are now an integral part of my practice. Each 24 oz. Black Cherry White Claw can was collected, transported, washed, dried, taped, and painted. The multiple Marlboro Special Select cigarette boxes he discarded each day were meticulously disassembled into their assorted materials to be transformed later into sculptures. By spending time with these materials, I am in a way able to spend time with him, even if he is not around. 

The loss is universal. The grief is inevitable. And no matter how prepared you think you are, there will never be enough time.