A fascination with documentary photography and recording the world around me. A now defunct high school blog on Bruce Davidson's NYC photography. An undergraduate independent study on Sally Mann's ethereal and macabre photography of her children. A museum studies exhibition proposal on how we chose portray our family featuring Seiichi Furuya and how he showed us his wife's suicide. My interest began academically, intellectually, and now it has begun to manifest itself in my own photographs.
My career has taken me down a path I did not know existed, the collection of things and how we judge them to be culturally relevant. I have been a collections and research assistant, a database manager, and an archivist. I have worked with living artists, photographs, documents, and artwork. The skills I have learned are innate to my personality, I like order and record keeping. The questions I have learned to ask along the way help me to do this. What is insignificant and what is useful? How far removed do we need to be from an object to see it's worth? I collect objects, keep records, and a paper trail so as not to disappear entirely into this digital age.
It all started with my mother, a Swede, taught to cook by her father, by her Italian in-laws, by her friends in the 70’s era NYC, and by the cookbook masters of her time, Julia Child, Marcella Hazan and Craig Claiborne. As a child I learned from her the basics: mincing garlic, sautéing onions, pounding meat, and how to make Mormor's Äppelkaka. I chopped parsley in a glass with scissors and poked cantaloupes while breathing in their sweetness to see if they were ripe. I knew what a teaspoon of salt felt like in my hand, and how to check when something was done - I tapped on clams, pierced potatoes and threw spaghetti against walls. Finally, I learned that cooking with a glass of white wine comes highly recommended. I took these kitchen life lessons to heart and see now that what my mother really gave me was the confidence to know that I could navigate this world instinctively by taste, smell, and the rumbling in my stomach.