What defines absence? or Lack? When do we become ghosts of ourselves, our lives become ghosts of our lives, and places become the ghosts of our places?
What inhabits the empty parts of our lives, why do I imagine ghosts use the things I never do? The formal dining room, the chair in the corner.
I stopped believing in ghosts. But, for a long time they meant something important to me. While I might have been plagued by it, the question of their existence or non-existence, the possibility, was something I owned. I imagined them walking down the stairs all night, standing next to my bed when I couldn't sleep with the floor creaking and the window tapping and the crackle of light in the dark.
Here are some images I made of ghosts, sort of.
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