I photograph...

...to somehow remember glimpses of my childhood in the now lonely space only occupied my my reclusive Grandma and 50 years of accumulated "stuff". These images came out of my knowledge that this home used to be filled with the vigorous activities of my Grandma's crafting, my Grandpa's woodworking and my sister and I running around like crazy headless chickens. I spent so many hours coloring and drawing, playing dress up, building with the blocks and toys my Grandpa would hand-make or clogging up imaginary freeways with my Dad's old cars. As I transversed the house, not only could I see whispers of my own childhood, but evidence of my Dad's presence in his parent's house from boxes of old photo paper to his old darkroom in the garage marked with a distinctive "fish eye" image of his Dad.