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Artist Statement
In days past, families used to photograph their homes.
Perhaps when they finished building the homestead or shortly before they moved in. They'd then place the photos along with
images of mom, dad, children and grandparents in an album of memories. The home is as much a key player in the memory process
of their lives as they were to each other. There are a few who still include the home in the family album, but as the world
opens to become more within our reach...the idea of a home having one dweller for more than 40 yrs is rare today. Because of
this we see the abandoned lives hidden in overgrown trees, or down a narrow path. A graveyard of memories. You can feel the
warmth and hear the laughter. I stop to look and admire the home. It needs a smile. A moment. Sometimes if I stop long enough
at an old abandoned home I can see it breathing. Sighing in and out or crying for help. The history comes alive with every
wallpaper layer and chipped paint piece.
..I heard her cry one day. She sat on a main road heading east. A slow whimper on a soft
May afternoon. May is the rebirth of spring and life, but she knew her days were numbered, perhaps more keen than I, and
grasped for someone to record the fact that she was once alive with light. I slowed the car and pulled into her driveway.
A small sign marred her front. White with blue lettering it read 'Home To Be Moved'. Perhaps this house and I were more
similar than we knew. Look. Listen. Feel. I peered through the windows and caught her wave. A lace sheer, once white like
her skin, billowed outside her broken pane. She was waving at me to come closer and step inside. She has a desire to be
remembered. To be noticed. The home has since lost her battle and sits within the ground she once stood upon.
Fragments of Memory are all that is left To Be Moved.
