When it came to showing my feelings and emotions through artistic expression, I was lacking immensely.In a sense, I was a very secretive and emotionless artist, whichmade it easy for me to draw, photograph, or write about a given topic that I didn’t necessarily have feelings for, but at the same time I was acting as if I knew a lot about these things when I really knew little or nothing.
I was given an assignment to photograph death and I had two weeks to do it.It seemed simple enough, I figured I would go to a cemetery and take a picture of Headstone of some child who died from a horrible drunk driving accident, or something of that sort.So I did and thought nothing of it. In the early morning of September 15, 2000 my cousin, who I was very close to had been found in an alley, raped and murdered. I was so angered when I found out, I couldn’t stop myself from crying for days and to make things worse, the media slandered her name with ignorant lies, as if they were trying to justify her death.
I remember goin to school that week, not wanting to talk to anyone or do anything, especially a photo assignment on a local band for my school newspaper – but I did it anyway.On my way to the cafe where the band was playing I passed by the alley where my cousin was murdered.I don’t know what made me want to see the place where someone had been brutally murdered, but when I did see it, I was overwhelmed with feelings that I physically, couldn’t handle. I fell against a wall and just sat there for a while thinking, but not about my cousin; I was thinking about how censored I was living my life, and how I never put effort into anything I did that had to do with what I considered my passion.
I went back to the alley later that week to take pictures, and while I was looking through my camera at the alley, I began to truly understand and feel what I was doing, and why I was doing it.