The Stories Remain When All Else Fades

2015 - 2016

I never saw the ghost woman myself.

My mother and I lived in the apartment above what had once been my great-grandparents’ bakery. Over the years, various occupants of that old space had commented on seeing a woman in white clothing wandering through. “They’ve been hitting the booze at closing,” was my grandfather’s response to these sightings. He was a staunch skeptic in all things supernatural and such occurrences could be explained away by everyday behaviors. But after the last occupant moved out and the space remained empty,  I would hear unexplained noises at all hours.

I kept thinking about her. Who was this woman? Why was she hanging around a bakery turned bar? What kept her there? I was thoroughly intrigued by this spirit that lived just beneath me.

I believe in ghosts. I’ve seen my fair share over the years. Some would say it’s a gift but I find it fairly mundane. The women in my family on both sides seem to have an aptitude for seeing things, having odd dreams – knowing when something will happen. Rarely did they talk about it. Their abilities were an open secret. The family knew but were not to mention it. Appearances had to be kept.

When I set out to create a series of images around my family, I kept returning to ghosts and secrets. A ghost is very much like a secret. It’s a memory that refuses to leave. You can’t really talk about it to others because what would people think? These ghosts linger, haunting the places we’ve been and the people we’ve known. We carry them with us. They remind us of our past, of our secrets. They’re a reminder of who we once were and a reminder of who we may still be.

The stories remain when all else fades.