I speak the names of my ancestors, a remnant of the oral histories I carry as I follow in the tradition of storytelling. A record of voice is a document of a private performance of memorialization. Unable to hear the sound of my voice in the still of a photograph, the names are naturally repeated by the internal voice of the viewer; this act of repeating keeps the memory and histories alive. Once ephemeral, these photographs creates a tangible link between myself and my ancestors, a now documented relationship between myself and those I’ve never met.
