Self-reflection is important. It is also something most of us do in private, if at all. With that in mind, the less I say here about my time back in my hometown, the better. Or at least better for me, as I never wanted to be the kind of person that airs their inner drama in public. (Irony is not lost on me that I’m writing this on a public platform…) Nonetheless, as an artist, part of my drive is to share, otherwise I might as well be building sandcastles on the shoreline, all by myself.

Sifting through decades-old ephemera found in closets and backs of drawers in my childhood home has pushed my inner reflection into overdrive. Spending time with my aging father, while finding little remnants of my younger self has created waves of ennui that wash over me, like low tide on the Atlantic coast. What is there to life but remnants of our past and hopes for the future, bookending the present. The ephemeral present.