“Ya nada me distingue del mundo porque nada detengo. Pero (sopla lento el viento) cada partícula de polvo, cada gota de agua que viene en el viento, un instante antes de entrar en mí se detiene. Nada me distingue del mundo, es cierto, pero nada me traspasa. Todo, justo un instante antes de perforarme, me señala, me sostiene, me demarca.”1 ~Carmen Boullosa, Agua oscura*
My roots are European and Indigenous Central American. My parents immigrated to the U.S. as adults, my mother from Mexico and my father from Italy. I have moved 25 times in my life, including in Texas, New Mexico, Massachusetts, Italy, New York, Nebraska, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Indiana, and California. In September of 2018 I moved into a cabin overlooking Dix River and Mocks Branch in Boyle County, Kentucky. I am the first and only in my family to have ever lived in this place I now call home. The resulting photographs have begun to give shape to a meditation on migration and our visceral, genetic connection to the land and to each other.
*Translation: Now nothing distinguishes me from the world because I hold nothing back. But (the wind blows gently) every speck of dust, every drop of water that comes in the wind, an instant before entering me stops. Nothing distinguishes me from the world, it’s true, but nothing passes through me. Everything, in the instant just before penetrating me, signals me, sustains me, defines me.