I wanted to focus on the nature of our ever-dying bodies. The places we stay alive, the places our dying bodies inhabit, and what effects those have on the people around us.
As I came closer my 21st birthday, more and more I notice(d) the failures my body presents me with. The more and more I realize just how little time left the people around me have. The more I realized how little time I have.
My mother's birthday, too, exacerbated these anxious feelings.
It's a sore spot upon my heart. Another sore spot: I had shown my mother images I'd taken of her hands - physical prints of them - and her response lie somewhere along the lines of....
"When I'm dead you don't want to keep these ugly photos of my hands,
I look bad in them."
The parallel between her words and my photos was intriguing, because she had no information on what I was making the work about.
