Public Story
Innermost House
Archival pigment prints, book forthcoming
When we arrive on the island in early July, the poppies across from the front door are large, hairy buds full of the promise of bloom, not dissimilar to my anticipation and excitement for this place—an old farmhouse surrounded by reclaimed farmland on Prince Edward Island—which I’ve had the privilege to visit in summers since my infancy. While we are not native to the island, this is where we go to come home. With the freedom to roam, I have explored its forests and meadows alongside my anxieties and desires, locating and building upon my innermost house. As an imperfect structure, it is always shifting, settling into itself.
As our time on the island slips by, the poppies’ petals wither and fall, and after a heavy rainstorm—nothing remains. Meanwhile, their hard, green pods prepare to ripen, to spread their seeds in the wake of our departure.
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