In this space, I played hide and seek with my cousins. I watched cartoons and climbed through windows. Without questioning, I opened the door for Elijah every year. Since my grandma's passing in April, I've watched her home unravel. Every couple of weeks I've witnessed a new mark of it's transformation: after the sofa was thrown away, since her closet was emptied, when a fresh coat of paint was put on the walls. As I write this, impressions of my grandparents' bed still exist on a stale carpet.
Using the medium of photography, I witness the light that met my grandparents each morning. In what was once the dining room, I am invited to stay for as long as I want, for as long as I am able. The apartment moves around the sun, just as it always has. As I grapple with my memory and the changes taking place, my photographs serve as a portal for what was and what will be. In this work, I somatically acknowledge the warmth that feels ever-present, while simultaneously confronting the apartment’s return to being a blank canvas for a family dreaming about the future.