practice/process/praxis

My mother was obsessed with cleaning. As a child, every Saturday morning, we did housework while she filled the house with love songs that never said, “I love you.” In many ways that was my childhood as a black Jamaican immigrant living in the United States—I grew up surrounded by expressions of my mother’s love but without the words. My work constantly revisits this occurrence of maternal love that is attempted, but never vocalized, felt, but never heard. 

I center the interiors of matriarchal gestures and facial expressions through narrative prose, video, performance, and installation. Using intimate, painful stories as a starting point, I invite viewers to engage in their own cathartic autobiographical sharing, in order to collectively disentangle and decode the ways mother’s love.

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