“The home should be the treasure chest of living” Le Corbusier

On a warm fall day, with my camera in tow, I approach the steps of her home. Though a complete stranger to me, she is beloved by many friends, colleagues and family – she also happens to be the Aunt of my dear friend who has asked me to come here on this day. I will never meet her, never share stories, or food, or music – though by the end of this encounter, I feel as if part of me knows her – a kindred spirit gone too soon – a soul I wish I had known in this lifetime. My friend, who typically greets me with an incomparable energy of a man on a mission, mile long smile and rib cracking hugs, approaches me somberly this day on the sidewalk, strewn with newly fallen leaves from the maple that resides on the front patch of lawn. I still receive his trademark embrace, though this time it lingers a little longer than usual.

He’s asked me here today to document the contents of his Aunt’s home – it has remained untouched since she passed, with the exception of the addition of flowers that have been brought home from the cemetery following her funeral. I am told she was an archeologist, a jewelry designer, and avid collector – that she radiated an infectious energy and a sentimentality that was transmitted to everyone and everything that surrounded her. Upon walking inside, in this most intimate and fragile moment, I knew without a shadow of a doubt how apt this description of her was. Though recently departed, I quickly came to realize that she is still very much alive in the object memories that were carefully curated, sheltered and cared for in this home.

This was a home where every object held meaning – an archive of a life well lived, a sacred space well loved. As I moved from room to room, typically mundane vignettes became their own story, evolved into questions to ponder and painted a poignant picture of this woman, the life that she lived and what she held dear. It was I who was now felt like the archeologist in this space, this personal museum – excavating these memories in the piles of books, walls of hanging baubles, trinkets and garments – each object revealing another piece of her history.

I felt she was no longer a stranger – that in my short visit, exploring the world she left behind was enough time to understand why she will be so dearly missed. I am honored to have had the opportunity to at least know her this way, to have been asked to document this fleeting moment in time for my friend who understood the importance of his request and for his desire to carry on her memory in this manner – the final document of an archive of her life – something someone like her, I imagine, would have truly appreciated.

These images encompass their own story – but I believe that they may end up as part of a larger narrative that explores our relationship to objects, matter and memory.