broken buddha
2019
35mm silver gelatin mural print on wood
For as long as I can remember, there’s always been a buddha. There was one in the garden of the house we lived in until I was eight. It marked the spot where we buried my first dog. When we moved across country, we brought it with us as a reminder. Although this is not that particular one, it still reminds me of when I was younger. For me, it represents the first place that was home and all the memories that are associated. This buddha sat next to our garage here in Idyllwild. This past summer, the Cranston fire swept through and burned it to the ground. Along with it, all the little things that told the story of me. Meaningless things like the art projects I did when I was in elementary school, old scrapbooks, and the piles of photographs stacked high in bins that I never thought I would miss, took its toll on me. I never realized the comfort of having these objects close. Now, it feels like a part of me is gone. The memories from my past are buried in the ash.
