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Because my childhood was unusually lonely, people and the traces of people held a special comfort for me. Being alone made me intent on seeing these remnants wherever I went. Now as I walk around I look with longing at the things I pass on the street. I express myself in pictures of these forsaken spaces. ¶ A doorway waiting to be walked through is overrun by vines. A square building once triumphantly modernist now looks down-at-heel. A spindly tree planted with the best of intentions now must struggle to find the light. The less-loved shoes of a busy woman are left on the sidewalk too and they are similarly charged. Everything seems to me to have someone's fingerprints on it; my work records these little impressions. |
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