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 photos of my hands."
The parallel between her words and my photos was intriguing, because she had no information on what I was making the work about.
