These photos include three individuals: two models, and one photographer. All three have unique death experiences. One lost a boyfriend to murder, one lost a mother to cystic fibrosis, and one lost a father to suicide. But all three have experienced the same “Phases of Grieving” and the reintegration that follows.
This project takes the “Grief Cycle” and looks at it in the twilight between our physical world and the psychological landscape of our minds. Notice the differences in lighting, the television screen, the movement of objects in the room, and the change in each person's appearance.
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For this piece, I was inspired by the work of Gregory Crewdson, as well as Alfred Hitchcock, The Twilight Zone, and the world of clinical psychology. One of Crewdson’s earliest memories was listening through the floorboards to his dad’s sessions with psych patients, and I see how that shaped his work. Looking at his photos is like stepping into a world that feels somewhere between David Lynch and Black Mirror—familiar but unsettling.
I was thrown into the world of clinical psychology when I was thirteen. It was a really strange space—sterile CBT programs, psychiatric medications, and this constant message of “it’s okay, we can fix you” through the brain disease model. I think my experience in clinical psychology was sometimes more traumatizing than my father’s suicide. The lack of emotional connection and attunement was isolating. What helped me survive it were the other teen patients, and my weird high school friends. At least when we were weird together, things made sense, and I felt close to normal.
We sometimes hear stories from people that seem so strange they sound made up; the person telling the story might even start questioning themselves, whether it happened at all. I wanted to capture this feeling through a somewhat vague situation that has no clear identifier of what actually happened and allow people viewing it to be suspended in this reality, seeing themselves in it almost like a Rorschach test. I want them to be able to create closure that’s unique to their experience, and in so doing, what they glean from it is more of a reflection of themselves, then the art itself.
Other Inspiration: I admire the eerie realism Sally Mann captures, the quirky exposure of human nature in Vivian Maier’s negatives, and the fragmented memories in Nan Goldin’s work. Please look at their work.
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1. Shock Event
The untouched tissue box, a stoic response to another’s crisis, and a dog quietly eating in the background capture the banality of trauma and our instinct to suppress unbearable knowledge. It was an ordinary afternoon. I chose to shoot in a living room—the place where I first learned of my father’s suicide and where I’ve often seen families gather after funerals. Preparing to explore grief through photography was an emotional process, sadly, a common result of early childhood trauma is emotional shutdown; I believe I remained numb through much of the editing process because of it.
2. Refusal to Understand
Denial sets in after the shock event. Life resumes its routines, even as emotions wreak havoc beneath the skin. An outburst may seem exaggerated, but soon after, numbness takes over and the inability to communicate. The television flashes the words, ‘Is that an exaggeration?’ along with the stumbling of words “Oh yes…Mrs…I mean..” The lighting remains unchanged—steady—while one person moves on in life and the other remains stuck. In the dining room, unopened mail from the outside world piles up, untouched.
3. Resistance
Relationships begin to unravel under the weight of suppressed anger and sudden outbursts. The room darkens, illuminated only by the red glow of the television. A pillow lies abandoned on the floor—an early sign of caring less about maintaining appearances. The TV becomes both an escape from reality and a catalyst for uncontrollable anger, a way to shut out the world and the people around you.
4. Catharsis
For the first time, grief and sadness find a way to surface. One person is absent, but the other remains, finding a fragile sense of safety in the sadness reflected by the television’s blue light. A tissue is held loosely in hand, with others scattered on the floor—evidence of allowing emotion to take priority over maintaining appearances. In this moment, feeling your feelings becomes possible again, perhaps for the first time in a very long time.
5. Resignation
After emotions grow too overwhelming, numbness sets in. The attempt to self-regulate begins through scattered coping mechanisms—deep breathing, drugs, the hum of static television. The other person remains absent, and emotional connection feels out of reach. What’s left is internal processing, carried out in isolation.
6. Emptiness
This is the chaotic, vulnerable space where decisions are made, memories are formed, and meaning begins to take shape. It’s a transitional state—a moment of stepping back to observe: Is this situation safe? Is this person safe? Do I need to leave? Existential questions surface. In this emptiness, rebirth begins. It’s the turning point, where we begin to create something from what we’ve been given.
7. Reintegration
This is the step forward. Rebirth is not about resolution—it’s about a transformational process. She begins to wake herself up through connection, emotion, and vulnerability. The television now shows a scene from Good Will Hunting. The light, once tethered to the living room, is now somewhere new—a scene not yet explored. To honor Rebirth, we must also honor Death.
Capturing the final image was the most difficult. Grief and human suffering doesn’t end. To imagine a tidy ending is actual death, it’s the end of thought. What I hope the image conveys is not happiness or an absence of pain, but a process—a movement toward something new. Change is constant, and for someone in the depths of suffering, that change can become a source of hope.
Many friends interpreted the final image differently. One person believed it depicted suicide. Another said the cold light looked like an open refrigerator door. At first, I was embarrassed—I wished I had used warmer lighting. But I’ve come to see that this project isn’t about perfect execution; it’s about exploration and inviting others into that space to talk. Their reactions are part of the art. And next time, I’ll add more warmth to that dang light.
Spring 2019
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Thank you!