The notion of memory guides a lot of my work. The "Shredding Project" is a series I made after spending several days with my father a few months after my mother had passed away.

One night, to pass the time, I began going through the hundreds of Kodachrome slides my parents kept in a closet alongside our very old slide projector. The slide projector was broken, parts no longer available, so I held each slide up to the light, and studied them one by one. I spent hours gazing at the brightly colored renditions of my family’s vacations to Disneyland, Pike’s Peak, Europe, nearby lakes, the beach and countless birthday parties and graduations. I clearly remember the camera we used for shooting slides. It was special, because the resulting pictures always called for a gathering of the extended family. The movie screen was hauled up out of the basement, hoisted into the air with a dramatic flourish, then positioned just right so that everyone - grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins could see the show. My family was democratic when it came to using that camera. It was passed around from parent to child to child, back to parent and so on. These pictures, then, were taken by each and every one of the six members of my family.

Around the same time that I began looking at these vibrant and nostalgic images, my eighty-five year old father asked me to start shredding his personal papers.  

I spent hours shredding. The rhythm and the noise of the shredder kept me alert, but the process itself became monotonous. At some point, I realized the seriousness and sadness of the whole project and the grim future it was predicting. In a state of panic, I found myself trying to piece some of the shreds back together, in a sense, to ward off the inevitable outcome – the death of my other parent and the end of my family as I had always known it.  

The convergence of my family’s old pictures and the process of shredding resulted in this body of work. As I re-framed the images, then shredded and re-assembled them, I suppose I was carefully examining and piecing together my memories, and in a sense, creating my own narrative. 

My Blog

Shredded

The notion of memory guides a lot of my work. The "Shredding Project" is a series I made after spending several days with my father a few months after my mother had passed away.

One night, to pass the time, I began going through the hundreds of Kodachrome slides my parents kept in a closet alongside our very old slide projector. The slide projector was broken, parts no longer available, so I held each slide up to the light, and studied them one by one. I spent hours gazing at the brightly colored renditions of my family’s vacations to Disneyland, Pike’s Peak, Europe, nearby lakes, the beach and countless birthday parties and graduations. I clearly remember the camera we used for shooting slides. It was special, because the resulting pictures always called for a gathering of the extended family. The movie screen was hauled up out of the basement, hoisted into the air with a dramatic flourish, then positioned just right so that everyone - grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins could see the show. My family was democratic when it came to using that camera. It was passed around from parent to child to child, back to parent and so on. These pictures, then, were taken by each and every one of the six members of my family.

Around the same time that I began looking at these vibrant and nostalgic images, my eighty-five year old father asked me to start shredding his personal papers.  

I spent hours shredding. The rhythm and the noise of the shredder kept me alert, but the process itself became monotonous. At some point, I realized the seriousness and sadness of the whole project and the grim future it was predicting. In a state of panic, I found myself trying to piece some of the shreds back together, in a sense, to ward off the inevitable outcome – the death of my other parent and the end of my family as I had always known it.  

The convergence of my family’s old pictures and the process of shredding resulted in this body of work. As I re-framed the images, then shredded and re-assembled them, I suppose I was carefully examining and piecing together my memories, and in a sense, creating my own narrative.