I just finished watching the re-make of "Grey Gardens" starring Drew Barrymore and Jessica Lange. I remember watching the original right after college, and it really striking a shrill resonance with me. Shrill but oddly comforting. These women, did what they wanted. And... the world forgot about them.. For a moment anyway, being related to very famous former first lady helps.

But, there are parrallels within my own personal life that this story equates to. And it reminds me of the lesson taught by my mother, not directly, but by example. The world will forget. And you will forget. Allowing the tree branches, rodents, and stench to pervasively wander its way into your daily life and ritual. You forget that you once looked down on others who live this way. Maybe forgot to judge others by this way they live. With empty food boxes strewn everywhere, balls of accumulated hair and dust in the corners, and water damage to everything supposedly stable around you.

I saw the movie "Gummo" before I saw "Grey Gardens" and thought with disgust how these people could handle living. How could they go on in this bleak disaster.

My family, like many, I know mine isn't the first, came to enjoy a great livelihood... early on. My parents were EXTREMELY poor growing up. Then all of a sudden, they had money. Then, it was all gone. Personality, emotion, feelings, phobias, and anxieties were growing out of the tough cement that was the family unit. Complicated. and much different.

Recently, I went home to take some photos of where I grew up. I'm sad to see it in the state it is in. My mother told me vagrants are stealing stuff, since no one lives there now. They are stealing old home movie recorders, old brand name shoes we wore in high school, and copper from in the walls. They don't give a shit about the first edition books my mother has in our old library, the grandfather clock and antique furniture, or the gun collection my dad has hidden away. Surprisingly.

I remember Kumquat and pear trees along with a pecan tree arbor. What a goddamn brat I was.

I did a series of photos, mainly portraying the position people have in a dream... My dad told me one day, one can either be a participant, observer or a victim in their dream. The outcome relies on the person. In order..

participant- the family room

observer- where i used to stand watching my mother cook

victim- my bedroom