Thawing Time — Artist Statement

I don’t know the people in these photographs. They were gathered in a box on the top shelf of my study. Over the years, many were found while cleaning out parents’ homes, while others came from abandoned albums at estate sales. Some were even rescued from curbsides, left for recycling trucks. These forgotten portraits and snapshots were often tucked away in books or left inside discarded greeting cards. But, when they reached a critical mass in that cardboard box, they demanded to be dealt with in some way. 

Ashamedly, my initial inclination was to sell them online. After all, some of them possessed a certain humor with their old-fashioned clothing and unedited expressions. However, upon closer examination, I felt a shift within me. Instead of monetizing their lives or finding amusement in our differences, I felt a genuine curiosity to explore the common threads that connected us. Our shared aspirations, dreams, struggles, and challenges.

Who were these people before the shutter clicked? What paths did their lives take? Were they filled with happiness, misery, contentment, fulfillment, or success? How did they define these elusive terms? Who was behind the camera, capturing their moments?

Faced with more questions than clues, I began to imagine the answers. In my latest series, Thawing Time, I propose names and contexts behind these salvaged photographs from the 20th century. Except for a few cases, I use the original photographs themselves. These small treasures were once carried in wallets, mounted in albums, and lost in drawers. They bear creases, tears, stains, scribbles, and even tape. But they are real and true.  

Creating an environment for each character becomes a puzzle that grows into an obsession. I use reclaimed book covers from outdated, damaged books saved on the last day of library sales, just before they are swept into the recycling bin. I include discarded wood, which was once a railroad tie, cheese grater, mandoline, serving tray, dresser drawer and cabinet door. I incorporate orphaned dominoes, empty thread spools, children’s worksheets, amortization schedules, postage stamps, dice, maps, and even a spinning top. 

Unexpectedly, as I work, I find myself appreciating, sympathizing, and become quite fond of these dear souls that fate has entrusted to me. Now, we know each other. My objective is not merely to fabricate a story; it is to encourage others to join me in honoring and delighting in people who we never had the opportunity to love.