I have a collection of old things. Some are meaningful family heirlooms, others are old photographs or interesting pieces of junk I picked up at antique and thrift stores. Things that are worn and used feel loved to me. I don't think I could ever have a house with completely modern design in it because of that--I would find it attractive, but it would lack the texture and variety that I like to have in my visual environment.

Even some of my old mass-produced photographs from when I was a teenager are developing their own texture through degradation. These photos of my grandparents, for instance. It's beautiful to watch the silver oxidize and solarize the photograph.

My grandmother Louise (from the first photograph) has passed away, and watching her image slowly degrade is a chilling reminder of how people can fade from your memory. I sing her lullabies to my daughter, and tell her "I love you to pieces," like grandma used to tell me. One day I'll teach her how to blow bubbles with her hands, and I hope to pick up an old-fashioned egg-beater so that we can make suds together in the tub. Just like I did with grandma.