I live in a house that was built in 1940, at the foot of the Catskill Mountains. When we thought about buying our house no-one else wanted it. It doesn’t have a garage, a paved driveway, a basement, more than one bath or bedroom which is why many people undervalued the house. It was also cluttered when we looked at it, but I immediately imagined it empty and knew it would be beautiful. The house has small windows that, in daytime, let in a gentle light which to me is special to this house. Life is going by quickly and I have lost many people, close to me, and not, in ways unexpected or if expected, naively I did not see coming. I know that I will not live in this house forever. The house will hopefully outlive me, but I wonder if a part of me will outlive the house. I wish my father could have visited, at least once. The relationship to my house has changed since both my parents have died. Somehow, without them, the need for a home I could love feels more important. While creating this work, I had the sense that all the people in my life, still here or not, live with me in my house. Within the space, I live with the memories of my loved ones. Within each room, a specific tradition, one of sleeping, bathing, sweeping, eating, cleaning, etc. gives me time to feel the presence of those whom I miss. Taking care of one’s home and oneself are humble activities, yet it is a privilege to have a home to clean, a floor to sweep and time to live there. Thus, I feel compelled to photograph my home. I have also come to realize, actually through this application, how much the carrying on of traditions and the memories of those whose traditions I share and follow, need a place to be acted upon and felt. While we, worldwide, often inherit objects; jewelry, books, furniture and such, it is really the customs and the reveries they bring to mind that are often what make our houses homes.
