Inspired bymy childhood garden, which no longer exists physically, I have searched to rediscover lost innocence through my work. Beginning in spring of the COVID-19 lockdown, my partner and I stayed with my parents to escape the confines of the city. Using my parents’ present-day garden as my guide, I witnessed the full cycle—from the first spears of growth until their inevitable demise. I took photos of what I saw there, trying to capture the essence of place, and myself in it.
Entranced by the vibrancy of the summer season, I turned to the anthotype photographic process. Using the flower’s pigment to make light-sensitive emulsions, my garden photographs were impressed upon the botanical distillations by the sun’s rays. The results are like jars of preserves, emphasizing the photograph’s inherent stillness and marked "death" of the subject. This act of collection and preservation initially transformed the garden's passing into something more lasting than a bloom, yet due to the instability of both anthotypes and life alike, became an exercise in acceptance—of petals falling to the ground.