Paper Street, 2015

is a public exploration of intimate space—an audiovisual poem about making a home in a house you don't own.

In 2014 I was forced to leave the craftsman house I had rented for several years in San Francisco, owned by the same family for decades. It went on the market at the height of a real estate boom. In our quickly changing neighborhood, even old houses, like this one, sold well over asking price, and well beyond what I could afford.

One morning a few months earlier, I received word that my mother had passed away. As my cousin told me the news over the phone, I sat looking out the south facing window of the house at the oaks just outside. I remained there for a long time looking out at the trees with the kitchen clock ticking in the background.

This and other distinct experiences have fused with the more mundane moments of living in the space. The creaking hallway floor recalls deep mourning equally as fumbling for the bathroom in the night. These sounds connect the physical structure of the house to the emotional and psychic structure of the home.

Though the house has been lost, another structure remains. It is made from the layers of interlocking memories—and memories of memories—of inhabiting that space.