THE BOOK OF QUESTIONS (2024)

There is an amber glow coming from the door down the hallway. The air is tight, I move towards it.  I reach the door, but you are always already gone. There is no trace of you left but there’s something that feels like you in the red glowing. I look down. My hands cup the color.  

My father has this dream over and over after my brother died. We start to write down our dreams together, sometimes it feels easier than talking about real memories. Sometimes the dreams are real memories. I start to see their dream images in my waking life. I start to photograph them.




The first dream I have of my brother is without images, only the sound of his voice. I feel it vibrate in my shoulder blades. He says, “Hey sis” “hey sis” “hey sis” “hey sis” “hey sis” “hey sis” “hey sis” until the words blur together, into “hisssshizzzzhissszzzz”

I obsessively search for sounds in a new image language:

A carried sound
A sound in the stomach
The sound of digging into the earth
The sound of the punctured atmosphere, the ripped and torn threshold
Not a touching or touched but a surrounded sound
The sound of remembering
The sound of teeth, sharp
The sound of the priestly robes, the sound of recognizing the scent
A sound of only the body speaks






The closer one gets to the essence of their testimony, to the heart of the most violent and profound incidents, the more elusive the memory becomes. To work within this limitation, we listen not to what’s there, but to the gaps. We create a dialogue with absence.

This work is interested in questions of trauma, testimony and death. It is interested in questioning what counts as evidence, the idea of the witness, and the politics of memory.