Like Yesterday

For the past decade I’ve been trying to cultivate a sense of home that isn't tied to a physical place, but rather exists as a state of mind. Still from time to time I feel the poisonous sting of nostalgia. No matter how far you've come from where you started, in moments of vulnerability memories bring back the faces and places that no longer exist. Or that still exist somewhere unreachable?

The past of course holds its share of difficult moments, many of which we've moved beyond and grown from. That growth is what makes me feel safe where I am now. That’s what life is about—experience.

This particular work is nothing more than a reflection on nostalgia and an acknowledgment of personal growth. The small house represents the past we've left behind. It appears tiny, both spatially and temporally, distanced by perspective and symbolic of how far one has come.

At the same time when I think of the intimate corners of memory, the cherished fragments of personal history, the tiny house becomes an elegiac symbol of the impossibility of returning to the comfort of childhood. You no longer fit there.