Love Could Stay on the Body

This project grows from a fear of disappearance and a desire to preserve love against the passage of time. I explore photography not as a way of remembering, but as an act of resisting absence. My practice began with a childhood conviction that love could stay on the body. I photograph because it is the only language I have for negotiating grief before the loss has even happened.

Growing up, my rituals were never about memory; I wasn’t trying to remember someone, I was trying to stop them from leaving. Photography became a continuation of that effort. The camera does not document; it attempts the impossible task of telling time to stop. It says, “Stay.”

The work moves between portraits, bodies, interiors, and fragments of everyday life. When someone drops their guard and allows me into their unperformed space, I am met with a terrifying urgency. Those moments have become the closest thing I know to permanence.

Moving through people’s lives has taught me that closeness is always on the verge of dissolving. In those shared spaces, I look for proof that we were here, that we loved, that we were loved, that I saw you, and that I was seen by you.

I photograph other people to keep from disappearing myself. Can a photograph actually keep someone from disappearing?