Kelwyn

This is, in a way, the story of my relationship with my grandmother,

Mémère, Barbara Cashman, at present. This is, in a way, addressing the emotional balancing act of simultaneous absence and presence, memory, family, and loss. You could say this is a story of grieving – some have already dubbed it as such. You can also say that this is a presentation of hope.

The house itself acts as a representational stand-in for our family’s history, for the transitional nature of loss, of all we are experiencing in this moment. But she’s not gone, just simply not present. She is here, but her own story is fading. The house itself, then, carries much of her story through all she has left there. Now, as my sister has purchased the house and is making it her home, it is a space of active transition from one family member to another. From possessions still there, Mémère’s fingerprint is left on the home that tells her story through its contents.

The exterior of the house has not yet changed, and likely will not for some time. But the interior, the location of things and the configuration of rooms, the color of walls and the contents of closets, is changing in leaps and fits. Yet the story is still there, albeit quieter. The story of my grandmother is a story in the lineage of strong women in our family’s history, of matriarchs, of guideposts offering a line of insight to the next step, offering reassurance. My grandmother’s story is one she is not able to tell, as she has told the stories of countless family members that came before and after her.

And although Mémère can no longer tell me her stories herself, I can capture all she has left for me, in memory and what she leaves behind.

Photographs, Essays, Audio, and Book Design

Thesis Project for BA International Journalism in Text & Image at Emmanuel College, Boston