My mother rarely let me photograph her, except in the last week of her life when she changed her mind. Each day, as she approached her death, she became more luminous. Immediately after she passed the nurses were in a rush to cover her body and take her away. I wondered why. It seemed so natural that I would want to stay with her for a while. My mother was also an artist but sadly most of her work went unseen. Each time we moved she left paintings behind, and I was too young to realize the pain of this. In the making of I Imagined It Empty, I had a strong wish to make a body of work in my mother’s honor, hoping that in some way that would reward her and create a kind of continuum.  

I live in a house that was built in 1940 in the Catskill Mountains. It was extremely cluttered when I first looked at it because the previous owners were hoarders and had lived there for many years. Yet, somehow when I saw it, I immediately imagined it empty and knew it would be beautiful. My house has small windows that let the sun light in gently, and when this happens I feel my mother’s presence. Life is going by quickly and I have lost many people, close to me, and not, in ways unexpected or if expected, naively I did not see coming. I know that I will not live in this house forever. The house will hopefully outlive me, but I wonder if a part of me will outlive the house. 

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