Slide film provides an amazing experience. Slides come to life in front of any kind of brightness. Like readymade lightboxes, you can hold slides in your hand as they glow with sharp brilliance. Their tiny size commands curiosity and intimacy. It starts to feel like you’re holding a miniature version of what happened.
I believe every photograph is a memory, an exact moment of time and space.
By photographing stacked slides, I am conflating accounts, adding them together and forming new stories. The impossible almost seems real, as domestic interiors are overrun with something unexpected, something other. The incredibly banal shifts into the transcendent, and comfort is charged with danger. I’m interested in the malleability of memory, how the present influences the past, and why we selectively remember or forget. I’m fascinated that my personal history is constantly changing, that something so seemingly concrete can slip away.
If we can share air, can we share our memories? What common past could we conjure in the same mountain vista? In the same cul-de-sac?
By constructing slide dioramas, I investigate how to depict pictorial space. I create a sense of depth that flutters like paintings, in and out, between conceivable and awfully flat. I’m interested in this kind of visual ambling and how it differs from the source material of photographs. Unlike paintings, photographs are captured at once, coming to be immediately – the relic of an instant.