Through Time Closing2025
Inkjet print mounted on fir lumber
80 x 2.5 x 3 in
Narrow slivers of scanned family photos, blown up to door-height inkjet prints and mounted onto fir lumber give glimpses of my childhood home, like memories seen through a door ajar.
Growing up my mother was a gardener and my father a builder, not only professionally but in all aspects. They spent a good part of their lives clearing their wooded acreage, building their home, and planting their garden, mostly by themselves, with help from friends. A magical little world literally bloomed from their imagination and their labour.
All the details of that house and the wealth of that garden are fixed in my mind at the height of their coming into being—images that could illustrate a fairytale. In reality they never stopped changing: the house was always being built or finished; the garden was, as all are, a constant labour of love waiting to grow fallow and wild. Eventually the home slipped from their grasps, as my mother slipped from all of ours.
Presumably the place goes on changing, but for me it persists as a glimpse slowly narrowed by the steady closing of time.
Documentation photography Byron Dauncey
