Messages From Home. This is not an autobiography; but everything here is true. It's a look at my family home where my parents have lived for the last forty-eight years. I'm the youngest of five children and all four of my sisters were born in what is now the spare room. My parents were the first people to live in the house and they haven't made too many changes to it in the time they've been here.
Unfortunately the house has subsidence and my parents are soon to move out, so that work can be done on the house. When the work is complete a few alterations are planned before they move back. Although the bricks and mortar will remain, I can't help but feel that my family home is soon to leave me. The fixtures and fittings from five happy childhoods' are to be stripped out and replaced with new five panel doors.
Before this happens I'm pressing my nose up against the window of my childhood and revisiting some familiar surroundings. I'm not looking for something tangible, that you can hold in your hand - but for the ghost of my childhood, for the essence of that thing that makes a house a home. However, my tripod is placed firmly in the present. No matter how hard I try, I can't photograph my childhood or my upbringing. I can only photograph the now. So I search in the detail looking for something that time has forgot, a glimpse of the past but instead my images trace an absence. This is not an autobiography but everything here is true. Messages From Home.