May you be found well
book layout slideshow
May you be found well consists of 96 luster pages, 56 photographs, and 5 bodies of text. I am currently working on creating 5 editions and one artist proof of this series.
It will also be accompanied by a handmade clamshell portfolio box of all the prints, for sale as a single item.
Accompanied text from the solo exhibition, Opening Echoes:
“May you be found well” is an inquiry into what wellness looks like when it cannot be seen. Over the course of a week last year, I began developing welts, blisters, and severe swelling that soon covered more than 30 percent of my body. Having never dealt with such an aggressive condition, I sought help from several dermatologists who determined it was a serious allergic reaction that would require heavy doses of steroidal creams and pills. Combined with an inherent insomnia and lifelong anxieties regarding death (my own and that of my family), my moods spiked erratically while my body ached, sparking a paranoia and fear that nearly overwhelmed me. Although the reaction finally receded after three months, the experience affected my relationships with my partner, peers, and especially my picture-making. The photographs from this period of healing–where time felt more precious and seemed to move slower–are tinted with the sense that they could have been my last, each a kind of isolated memorial. I found myself assessing the concept of a healthy mind/body connection and how the dissolution of such can manifest in external surroundings.
This all culminated in “May you be found well”, where images from this period are paired with journal entries collected from bouts of sleeplessness. The pages tell a story of time’s gradual healing and how not everything can grow back as it was. It’s there as hair in a sink and foliage that dies before springing anew, remnants of architecture fighting to stand the test of time, and quiet moments of rest. Meanwhile, the text embodies my inner monologue acknowledging the strangeness of our world and questioning my place in it. Inevitably, I reach no absolute conclusion of what wellness looks like, but rather, archive the evidence that its existence is a hidden force of its own–a binding agent between time and our idealized self.