ARTIST STATEMENT
These images represent the dark dreams of a woman as she ages; they are an exploration into my daily fears of being left alone, becoming invisible, and dying before fully living. The ghostly, ethereal self-portraits represent that invisibility, I feel in life and expect in death. The symbols of the mirrors, the clocks, and the hourglass represent what we fear as we age: the mirror looks different now, the clocks go far too fast, and the sand in the hourglass can never be flipped over in our lives.
For this project, conceptual photography and camera obscura photography serve as a medium for telling my story; the dark room of a camera obscura feels like an investigation into these imaginary places. It is almost otherworldly to see how the outside projections dance on the walls in the dark room. I have long been inspired by the Pictorialist photographers, the original photographic storytellers. Using a soft focus, by blurring the lens, distorts reality; objects are no longer exact replicas but invitations to my world, my impressionistic view of reality, and they become symbols of something more. Using long exposure, blurring the lens, and pushing the boundaries of what the camera can do help create a reality that only exists in my dreams. The dreams that became darker and less fantastical than they were as a child.
Women are often more susceptible to intense, vivid dreams; motherhood and menopause can often intensify this. While biological in nature, these dreams often feel surreal, deeper, and more mystical, something we cannot see or understand. Perhaps in our dreams, the veil to our subconscious is more permeable. What really happens in our dreams? Where do we go, and why can we not remember?
These images are where I imagine I go. They represent those places I feel deep inside, but are but a foggy memory upon awakening. The objects are symbolic representations of our fleeting time and how life moves so fast it feels like a blur, until it’s just a collection of hazy memories, until we are just a memory. When I awaken in the morning, I feel the memory of what I dreamt slipping away like sand through a sieve. I try to remember quickly, but the faces I saw have now disappeared, the places I went become enveloped in a fog until they turn black, now lost in the locked vault of my mind.