At the bottom of a shoebox packed in a closet, of a home once filled with life, a moment captured by a photo-chemical reaction, that recorded an impression of light through a lens of glass, lies a piece of decaying paper.
Like photographs memories fade, they change, they are forgotten, they can become lost, distorted or even destroyed. Our memories, the physical representations of such captured images, give us our identities. With each revolution around our star we age and decay. The bright beautiful child, a fragrant flower, the trees we use to make the materials which express our meaning to one another, ultimately decompose.
The dirt, stones and minerals contrast the torn photographs magnifying the impermanence of life and our own memories, along with those of our loves ones who we watch fade away.
