A Glimpse of Beauty, December 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
That morning, my Grandma got her hair and makeup done by her aide, Miriam. My Grandpa came over with the mirror, and I had to capture this small yet fleeting moment of them together. My Grandma has Alzheimer's, so to see herself was something profound.
Bring Me A Dream is a collaborative semi-documentary series investigating inter-generational memories in a family carrying the Alzheimer’s gene. When the eldest generation moves on, where do those histories go? What does it mean for a familial line to experience a disease that steals their memory and isolates them from everything and everyone they once knew?
Through lens-based media, I look ahead to the frightening future we must face while simultaneously glancing backward at what once was for multiple generations. People, objects, music, and locations reference childhood memories that are forever out of reach. Using the family archive, I attempt to name these histories from my mind and Grandma’s fading one. This inter-generational mapping unearths additional investigations on whiteness, class, and the meaning of heritage in a family with deep New England roots. Primarily using a digital camera and the vertical frame, I capture this period in our lives as a keepsake for my family and a call to action for others experiencing the same tragedy. Images from this series document the caretaker's essential role, the routine's burden, and the lasting effects on loved ones. With more questions than answers, I wonder what the future holds and if this disease will live with us for generations.
Left Wall
Gramp’s Desk, June 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print
16 Williams Street, November 2020
26x28”, Archival Inkjet Print
Here in Rehoboth, you can find the home my grandparents lived in for over 50 years. The once-manicured gardens now grow wild as the years have gone by. It is here that my Dad and his brother and sister grew up together, along with a slew of various foster kids. Here, in November, you can see the warmth of the red berries growing on the vines out front. The American flag still waves now faded.
Morning Mop, March 2021
6x9”, Archival Inkjet Print.
My Aunt Tammy did most of the cleanup around the house once my Grandma could no longer keep up with things. That was a long time ago now.
Fresh Eggs from the Coop, October 2020
6x9”, Archival Inkjet Print.
For a while, my Uncle Adam had a chicken coop at Grandma and Grandpa’s house where he was living. Each morning, he would go out to see them, collecting the eggs of various sizes, shapes, and colors. After cleaning them, some would end up in the cooler at the end of the driveway. “Eggs for Sale,” the sign would say. Most of the chickens are gone now.
After the Rain, December 2021
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
It rained hard that morning, and when I came to visit my Grandparents' home, I had a vision to position my Grandpa in front of the door. He often collaborated with me that way, helping me make an image come to life. He had a heart attack earlier that month and he almost didn't make it. This image represents a bittersweet foreshadowing of what's to come in my mind. This would be the last photograph we made together.
Andrew in Dad’s Room, May 2023
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
My cousin Andrew and I went into the house after a long day of cleaning out the basement and putting things into the dumpster. Here, in my Dad’s old bedroom, you can finally see the bare red colored walls. The American flag still pinned to the wall, he looks ahead at what is next.
Feeding the Chickens Gram’s Lunch, November 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Wearing his brightly colored Red Sox jacket, Grandpa tosses the scraps from Grandma’s lunch to Uncle Adam’s chickens. Grandma watches in her wheelchair as they peck at the crust of her sandwich. I always loved the Rhode Island Reds.
Thanksgiving Lunch, November 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Thanksgiving was always a big holiday for Grandma and Grandpa. Served in the same brown dinnerware, each bowl would contain a different side—mashed potatoes, carrots, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and more. But what prided Gramp the most was slicing into the bird. “Dark meat or light meat?” he would always ask. Great Grandma Latham always loved dark meat.
One of my favorite traditions was before the rest of the food got onto the table. At each place setting, there would be a glass with cranberry juice topped with a scoop of rainbow sherbet. I will always remember that.
Back Wall
Gramp as Uncle Sam, July 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Every 4th of July, Gramp would dress as a clown version of Uncle Sam for the local independence parade in town. He always loved dressing up, but for some reason, I knew this would be the last time. I saw him looking down at his hat and had to capture this moment.
You Missed a Spot, July 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
On this day, we were all painting Gram and Gramp’s cabin to cover where it had chipped. My brother Gio was working on the corner of the house by the porch where Grandma was watching quietly. She didn’t speak much now that Alzheimer’s had taken over. Suddenly, she began pointing toward Gio and telling him he had missed a spot. We all laughed and told Gio his work better be up to Grandma’s standards.
Hugging Birches, July 2020
Vinyl
Birch trees always remind me of being in Maine with my family. Here, my two brothers hug the twin birches as an act of love and desire to hold on. Now, one of them has been cut down and so much has changed in our family since then.
Dragonflies on Lakeweed, July 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
The mating dragonflies land on the lakeweed as the light breeze moves the water below. You can see the island in the distance, like a memory just out of reach.
T and the Lake Clam, July 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Growing up, my Grandpa used to play with us in the water, searching for lake clams. He would slit one open for us to see, then, putting it in his mouth, we would scream out in horror. This diptych is a reenactment of sorts, aiming to reference that memory as we come of age.
Gramp Looking Up, October 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
This diptych represents the changing seasons and looking ahead to the death of my Grandma, who has been living with Alzheimer's. While a simple moment, these combined images bring together the past and present.
West Island Birds, September 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Taken on West Island in Fairhaven, MA where my Grandparents experienced their budding romance as teenagers, this image tells the story of that time without actually being there. Having only ever heard of this place, I decided to make the trip down to visit. The starlings captivated my attention as they traveled together.
Great Grandma Latham’s Car, October 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Great Grandma Latham’s car sat near the old Christmas tree farm for a long time; the autumn leaves building up around it. I often felt that it was a metaphor for my family wanting to hold onto the past while having to simultaneously move forward.
Into the Earth, September 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
This is the Mayflower cemetery where my Great Grandparents and my Dad’s brother Roy are buried, though not in this spot. You can see the large mountain that is a dump site in the distance. This physical comparison of bodies and material going back into the earth helps to complete the diptych. A foreshadowing one could say.
Grandpa’s Bride, May 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gramp and I collaborated on this photograph together. I wanted to get a picture of Grandma’s high school photo in front of the flowers. I loved the way his hand held the frame, his class ring also in view.
Paying Respect (Farewell), May 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
The Japanese Quince in the yard started blooming, and as soon as I saw his New England Patriots hat, I knew I had to create an image with him. For me, this image is a gesture to my Grandmother, as if saying goodbye.
Right Wall
Greeting Mr. Rooster, March 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gram and Gramp have this famous photo in our family at the town anniversary ball. Gramp told me he felt weird dressing up all fancy, so he decided to wear his favorite overalls instead and come as a farmer, rooster, and all. On this day, we tried our best to recreate that famous family photograph in their backyard with Uncle Adam’s rooster. I’ll never forget Gramp going after that rooster. Its eye was piercing with fear as he clutched it, waiting for Miriam (one of Gram’s favorite aides) to wheel her out to the chicken coop for the photo. It’s hard to know if she knew what was going on but by the look on her face, I’m sure she thought we were crazy.
Gram and Her Wedding Dress, October 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gram’s wedding dress hangs in the hallway from the living room to the office, her hands feeling the lace. You can see all the artifacts of their lives on the walls in the background—Grandpa’s awards, paintings, and various knick-knacks collected over the years. While this was an attempt at referencing an important memory for her, I’m not sure she knew.
Gramp Organizing Medications, October 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Taking medications was always an essential part of the day for Gramp and Gramp. They had those weekly organizers to put them in but it truly became a full-time job. Tammy would carefully go through them, making sure the doses were correct and that they were the right ones to begin with. Sometimes, pills would be crushed or split. But I’ll never forget the way Gram would hold one between her teeth in an act of defiance. As if to say, “I found it and you can’t make me take it!”
Gram Lifting Weights, December 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
The majority of the time I spent photographing during my senior year in college at RISD, Miriam was the aide who would spend the most time with Grandma. We loved Miriam. She pushed Gram to walk across the house with a walker, lift weights, and play catch with her. She painted her nails and truly went above and beyond to help both Grandma and Grandpa around the house. Here she is in her recliner doing her exercises.
Gram’s Manicure, August 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gram always had her nails done. Pinks and purples and sometimes crazy colors would appear after various visits with family and aides. But her nails were always long and important to her sense of identity. The way she would move her thumbs together, rubbing them back and forth, was always a Grandma thing—even before the Alzheimer’s. The way she would tuck a tissue up her sleeve or into a pocket for later was always a Grandma thing. I found it fascinating to find these quirks that continued despite her memory loss.
Checking Vitals, March 2021
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gram looks at the camera as she gets her vitals checked—a regular occurrence at their home. People were often coming and going to help out with something around the house or to check in on Grandma. She is still in her recliner, where she spends the majority of her day, and even her nails are painted a deep red.
Tammy Helping Gram with her Jacket, April 2022
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
My Aunt Tammy helps Gram with her jacket as we go outside as a family for Easter. Caregiving is sometimes small tasks like this—pulling her arm through a sleeve so that she is warm.
Gram & Little Gram, April 2022
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
On Easter, I convinced everyone to go outside to take some photos together. Here, Gram sits in her wheelchair as my Dad holds up her baby picture, which usually hangs in the living room behind her. Her hands are interlaced together, her thumbs rubbing back and forth. The bright yellow forsythia is blooming around their home, as it does every year during that time.
Gram with Abe, November 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gram sits in her recliner, her legs crossed, resting her eyes as she does frequently each day. It is evening time, and the only light is from the warm cast of the lamp to the right. Her head and arms are propped up by decorative pillows. An image of the Lincoln Memorial looms over her head, Abe almost mimicking her posture.
Gram’s Last Day at Home, July 2022
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Two years later, Gram is still sitting in her recliner under Abe, but time has passed, and things have changed. Grandpa is no longer with us and it’s time to make a difficult decision around Grandma’s care. This was the last day Gram was at home at 16 Williams Street before going to the nursing home.
“Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
Give him two lips like roses and clover
Then tell him that his lonesome nights are over
Sandman, I'm so alone
Don't have nobody to call my own
Please turn on your magic beam
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream.”
Afternoon Nap, January 2021
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Interior Walls
Gramp’s Nightstand, December 2020
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Gramp’s Nightstand, April 2023
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Lobster Lunch, July 2023
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Food has always been a love language in my family. Up in Maine, where my parents and grandparents have cabins near each other, we would usually do an annual seafood boil to celebrate summer together. This year, we celebrated Gram and Gramp by eating lobster and clams dipped in warm melted butter. It was a feast that they would have loved.
Watching the Train, July 2023
26x38”, Archival Inkjet Print.
We kids would run barefoot down the dirt path, gravel piercing our wet toes, to see the train passing by on the tracks. “Train!” everyone would yell. We would stand there, dripping in our wet bathing suits from swimming in the lake, and wave to the conductor sounding the horn. If we remembered, we’d put pennies on the rail to be squished and count the number of cars to log into our record book. Sometimes there would be over 100, not including the engines.
At night, the sound takes over the darkness and wakes you from your sleep. The wheels scrape on the tracks while the cars clang. For visitors, it’s always a frightening alarm. Often, I never wake up.
Gram’s Patriotic Birthday Lunch, June 2020
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
It was Gram’s birthday, so Dad and I came down to Rehoboth to visit for lunchtime. Gramp brought out the 4th of July plates and napkins, though it was still June. Uncle Adam spears a boiled hot dog and places it into a bun.
Tammy & Adam with the Lilacs, May 2023
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
It had been a long day of cleaning out Gram and Gramp’s cellar and various sheds on the property. Tensions were running high, and all I could think about was to capture this day in a more beautiful way. My Aunt Tammy and Uncle Adam stand before the famous double-bloom lilacs by the garage looking in two directions. Two siblings, two directions—two futures different from one another.
Dad’s Room (Empty), May 2023
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Upstairs in the house, Dad’s old room had been cleaned out. I began to see it in a completely different light. The bright red and blue paint caught my eye, along with the various imperfections of the wall, once with posters and pictures hanging on it. For most of my life, this room was completely full of stuff—like a mountain of things that had been collected since my Dad’s childhood. With the house going up for sale, it had to change. Aunt Tammy and my cousins Katie and Andrew helped clear everything out over time. It felt like a new chapter.
Andrew on Gram’s Bed, July 2022
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
Only a few hours before this photograph, we had moved Grandma into the nursing home. My cousin Andrew sits on her bed at home, exhausted from the day. You can see the rooster stitched into the quilt and the lamp from Grandpa’s nightstand behind him, referencing previous photographs. I find this to be a moment of pause for what is yet to come.
Saying Goodbye, February 2022
13x19”, Archival Inkjet Print.
No words can truly describe how painful it was to make this photograph. We were saying goodbye to Grandpa, and my cousin Katie was brought to tears, hugging my Aunt Tammy tightly. I share this photograph because we all felt like she did—incredibly sad and clutching onto each other for safety. This was the frightening reality we had to face and are still facing today.