For Grandma Roundy.
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My grandmother had lived on a lake in northern Minnesota.
We would visit her there in the summer, when the sunshine and lake water smell would drift into the house. Grandma would watch tv from her recliner and claim to "rest her eyes," any time she would fall asleep.
I would leave her house with a lipstick stained kiss on my cheek and a deep feeling of rest. Throughout all of life, it felt as though her home was the one constant and accessible feeling I had. After she was diagnosed with cancer, she was brought into the cities to spend her last days beside her family.
These photographs were taken on her last day in her home.
All of her belongings remained untouched, left in a sort of timelessness,
as if awaiting the return of their owner.
In an attempt to captivate both the feelings of the past being left behind and moving toward the uncertain future, I altered some images during the fixing process, utilizing effects in the visual storytelling of memory.
We would visit her there in the summer, when the sunshine and lake water smell would drift into the house. Grandma would watch tv from her recliner and claim to "rest her eyes," any time she would fall asleep.
I would leave her house with a lipstick stained kiss on my cheek and a deep feeling of rest. Throughout all of life, it felt as though her home was the one constant and accessible feeling I had. After she was diagnosed with cancer, she was brought into the cities to spend her last days beside her family.
These photographs were taken on her last day in her home.
All of her belongings remained untouched, left in a sort of timelessness,
as if awaiting the return of their owner.
In an attempt to captivate both the feelings of the past being left behind and moving toward the uncertain future, I altered some images during the fixing process, utilizing effects in the visual storytelling of memory.