I feel inarticulate with the death of my beloved wife Catherine who drown in a plane crash. I started to photograph her things as a way of recording her life through her stuff… that I knew someday, I would have to let go. This is a meditation on loss and the life imbued in everyday objects, the belongings of the dead.
I am photographing absence.
A work in progress.
Things, they are just things right? They are just things but they become something else when the person is dead; fetish objects; imbued with the divine. When I photograph them I can feel her, both present and absent. They are in fact part of her or rather she part of them. Her DNA is there, tiny particles of Catherine in those clothes Is it transubstantiation (Catherine would get a kick out of that), has she become these things, all I have left except for fallible memory?
Made as icon boxes, at once lonely and glorifying, empty and full. With them, I try to reach out to her, though the water through time in messages through the only means I know, art.
I hope these pieces let you feel and connect to a loss you feel, but may also be unable to articulate.