From my earliest years I’ve been dreaming of houses. My dreams are always vivid, comforting, and infused with mystery and magic. There is always light and shadows playing with dust motes—the houses are always different and seem to be abandoned and empty of people. There is sometimes crumpled paper and leaves blowing across the floor making a soft rustling sound. The colors are muted and soft. There is a perfume related to the dreams. The closest I can come to describe the smell is one I noticed when I was about five years old on a cold winter’s day while shopping and hugging close to my grandmother in her beaver coat. The coat was long and black, and she always carried perfumed hankies in her pocket. I remember my hot cheek against her cold fur coat. It was a comforting mix of fur, perfume, and peppermints that she always carried in that coat.
To this day, I love houses and I am entranced by curtains blowing in a breeze. I love windows, doorways, and halls with light and shadows spilling across the floor. I love abandoned spaces. There is always something that seems left behind—some feeling or energy that I find particularly interesting and intriguing.
So I guess it is no wonder that houses and structures are what I most love to photograph. I just recently realized that my images are my attempt to translate what I see in my dreams. It is why I call the series Fragments of a Dream.