Wish You Were Here
113 Framed Photographs | 4 12x36 | 5 5x5 | 104 4x6
For Uncle Minn
Video | 7:11
God Bless This Home
4 6x9 Wood Prints
Clock
12x12
Incense
Mixed Media | 12x10
Mirror
12x12
Calendar
11x14
Book 1
8.5x8.5 | 234 Pages | Black and White Photography
Book 2
8.5x8.5 | 45 Pages | Poetry, Photography
Artist Statement
My uncle, David, died on August 14, 2023. Around December of the previous year, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.
Through a series of coincidences – some unfortunate, many auspicious – I was able to spend a majority of that last year by his side. He showed me around Cambodia for the first time. We’d go on long walks around Phnom Penh where he introduced me to every beer the motherland had to offer.
In return, I visited him in the hospital back in Milwaukee as often as I could and stood by as he drew his final breaths.
I didn’t speak at the funeral. I didn’t know how to say goodbye to someone who’d been in my life for 23 years.
When his son asked me if I loved him, I was just as speechless. Our family has never been good at saying what we feel. I don’t think I ever told him I loved him and I can’t recall a time when he uttered those three words to me either.
But even in the silence, I knew he loved me. It was in the cold winter mornings he woke up early to get me and my sister to school on time. Our evening walks. The songs from his youth he introduced me to.
I just hope he knew the feeling was mutual.
And although it’s probably much too late, this is how I show my love – by keeping his memory alive and not allowing the world to forget about him.
All I have left are the thousands of photos I’ve captured over the last few years. They tell the final chapter of his story and offer a small glimpse into the time we shared together as well as what my life has been like since he passed.
In sorting through them, I’ve found a collection of memories I’ll cherish forever, painful moments I’ll never forget, and bittersweet reminders that life goes on. I’ve held on to them long enough. It’s time to let go.