then he forgot my name, a self-portrait photography series, examining decay and mortality while reflecting the collective awakening of female power set in American Rust Belt darling, Youngstown, Ohio.
Several years ago my father was diagnosed with dementia, prompting frequent visits to my hometown. Using a family owned historic building in downtown Youngstown, as a backdrop, the building yearns to reveal its tales, providing a crucible for conjuring story and character, full of the spirit of its history. Approaching the work from the personal, I find paths to a wider relevance through symbol, archetype and current events. Evoking the inner thoughts of women, the ones who lived or worked in the building from its construction––creating characters through researching past tenants (thank you Mahoning Valley Historical Society), inspired by found objects on set as well as the universality of womanhood, replete with its trials, wounds, strengths, tolerances and impossible tasks.
What began as a project about my declining father evolves into what it means to be a woman, with a look back at our history and tying it to the issues of today. The title then he forgot my name takes on different interpretations—beginning with the denial echoing from some public perpetrators ringing harshly and loudly: “I don’t even remember her”. And cultivating the parallel mismanagement of our forgotten American Rust Belt and the women’s movement that is painstakingly remedied every couple decades reminding us that little has changed.
The use of the color pallet of red, white and blue in conjunction with the deteriorating state of the rooms both implies and explores the tenuous nature of power, while flashes of yellow represent the light of new beginnings and potential for rebirth. Despite it all—amid the ruin—the strength of the woman emerges.
