Searching, finding, reaching: home is always just beyond my grasp. Caught in the limbo between youth and adulthood--between New Orleans (my hometown) and New York, between flightiness and stability--I am searching for a “home” of sorts. In my photography, I shoot from the gut, and although the images I capture range widely in content, they all possess a visceral quality. A doorway, a delicate light, eye contact, a bedroom, an ephemeral sensation--they all reflect some manifestation of warmth, of something maternal, of “home.”
However, I am inveterately one to step back and observe; I maintain a safe distance. I am an outsider, but comfortably so. Constantly remaining just out of reach of “home,” I perpetuate the search.
Stuck halfway between two extremes, I am amidships. I balance between bow and stern, I negotiate the forces pulling me in either direction, unsure of what force of inertia to which I will surrender.