Jumper Cables, 2010, archival pigment print, 18 x 18 in.
The Dream, 2007, archival pigment print, 40 x 27.5 in.
Bound, 2006, archival pigment print, 15 x 15 in.
Lamps, 2009, archival pigment print, 40 x 40 in.
Circles, 2009, archival pigment print, 40 x 40 in.
The Reader, 2005, archival pigment print, 40 x 30 in.
The Explorers, 2005, archival pigment print, 40 x 30 in.
Trophy, 2010, archival pigment print, 18 x 18 in.
The Bilaterography series is a departure from my usual approach to photography. It’s fairly documentary, in that it is chronicling a sort of involuntary tic of mine. When left to my own devices I start counting symmetrical objects. Maybe you do it too? I am obsessed with games and this show presents my favorite alone-time game.
(My second favorite game is to imagine how I would escape from whatever room I’m in if the space was suddenly filled with water. Aside from the strategy element (gotta be efficient and find the path of least resistance) it’s also fun because it lets you think of any given space in terms of its volume, and the shapes its negative spaces create. Symmetry is much easier to photograph.)
Nature is already symmetrical, and buildings are intentionally constructed with a mirror harmony, so it’s often a very easy game. However one part of it I particularly love is rough symmetry – when there is an underlying structure but it’s imperfect. “Garage Doors” is a good example of a casually imperfect symmetry – the geometry of the structure is perfectly symmetrical, but at some point the owners switched out one of the doors and they’ve aged differently so this symmetry is broken.
So you can think of this as a game if you like – spot the similarities. Let it carry out beyond the show. Get obsessive if you want. How are people standing in the gallery? Any similar postures? Any pairs? How about the lighting? What if you pictured the space from above? How would things balance out that way? What about the cars parked outside? The shoes in your closet? The freckles on your face? And on and on.
My constructed-narrative photographs are nonlinear short stories. They focus on bizarrely adventurous young girls populating beautiful but uneasy worlds. To create these images, I draw from childhood fantasies and memories, then construct life-sized environments. By pushing these scenarios to an extreme conclusion, the girls become metaphors for our hyper-real childhood selves, where remembered emotions become stronger through time.