Several years ago, I was helping my mother to clean her basement, where I found a little pink box filled with films shot by my father. He was a policeman in a small town in Lithuania, then part of the Soviet Union. The films contained images of his work, family life and personal relationships. Between the familiar frames from our family album, there were frames that I’ve never seen before – the answers to unanswered questions and the stories that were never spoken of. The box revealed who my father truly was and why I am the way I am.
Through the examination of his images, I found that they mirrored events and moments in my own life, and added to the narrative that I was creating in my own photography. So our diaries began to blend into a familial narrative, giving context to memories I had, and illuminating the missing details. The images invoke feelings of my own nationality and family history, and refer to my own relationships, memories, struggles and expectations.