Originally posted to @thenewartgallerywalsall Instagram page
I adore family photo albums. The way they're displayed, the order curated, the quality of the printed film photographs. In previous work, I poured over the grainy, golden texture of the ones my mum kept of my childhood, examining them and unpicking my memories around growing up between two cultures. I became obsessed by them, using them to create a narrative around my complicated experiences growing up of mixed heritage.
When my father became sick in 2020, I stopped making work. I moved in with my parents to provide full-time care while working my job online. Art-making during this time seemed frivolous, impossible. We lost my dad seven months later, and upon the slow return to my practice and discovering my new way of living, I could no longer ignore my dad's presence in the photographs of my childhood. I felt an immediate shift - my thoughts became less introspective, and more observant of Dad's part in it all. This was the point it became clear to me that my grief was going to touch everything. It wasn't just something to affect my home and family - grief was a dye seeping it's way over the fabric of my life.
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