There are many forms of grief 

Mine is in constant motion

I am trying to make sense of the blur, to form it like a block of stone to sculpt

Forms of Grief is a marriage between movement and grief, photography being its witness. 

Each step is to break free; a movement is a breath, a memory, a gentle reminder that what once was will never be again the irony of it all though, an image can live forever. A rebellious act, to attempt to freeze a moment. 

This project is both an embrace and a surrender of our questions, grievances, anger, pain, resentment. I hope to break free. I hope to understand life and loss; existence and impermanence.

 Forms of Grief materialized in 2020, in the middle of the pandemic. It came about as I was coming to terms with my father’s 10th death anniversary. I remember thinking, has it really been a decade? 

The version of grief I grew up with was my mother’s. At least with what I saw, her version was strength. Perhaps, that's the truth she wants us to see and live - we did. It was only at the age of 23 did I come to understand that there are other versions; this is mine. 

Photography is where I found myself to be truly alive; it has opened many worlds for me. So much of what I know and who I am now is because the medium has allowed me to deeply grasp what it means to become a person, a woman and an artist. 

My fascination for motion photography started at an internship; I was tasked to document behind-the-scenes of a fashion show. I fell in love with the chaos and excitement; the rush and the privilege to be the only one seeing those series of moments that had to happen in order for something to transpire. This is when I started pondering about time, impermanence and how photographers pervasively sit on the other end of the scale. An irony both Maria Popova and Susan Sontag put into words perfectly, 

“Every photograph razes us on our ephemeral temporality by forcing us to contemplate a moment - an unrepeatable fragment of existence. That once was and never again will be.” – M. Popova

“Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.” – S. Sontag

It almost felt natural to photograph the main stage next: dance. I see choreography as pieces and parts – the lift of an arm, bending of knees, the opening of the chest, curling of the back – steps that make it whole. This is what I love, I get to witness two different versions of the performance. I came to realize that the whole may always look the same but never the parts. 

There is always an image that is printed in my mind and my whole body responds to make it happen - like my own little universe. Always inspired by an emotion, an idea, or a written material - all will shape up to be an image; a way of release and keeping. This had to be the way of processing my 10-year old grief; it had to be a girl in a white dress, standing alone, surrounded by nature that it almost feels like it's consoling her. I could not think of anything else. 

The first visual set I had for Forms of Grief  was a self-portraiture series that was inspired by a phrase from Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking, 

[...] we are repeatedly left

The whole world was in isolation but I knew that I had to shoot it so I improvised; I put a pin on the girl in nature. It had to be me, it had to be at home; it had to be a series, it had to be in motion so I can mimic what it's like to be repeatedly left. I birthed 4 images that come in pairs -  different variations and pairings. Like a customized puzzle piece in which I can create my own forms. The whole may always look the same but never the parts. 

Forms of Grief in 2021 received a grant from Angkor Photo Festival & Workshops. The grant gave me a chance to further develop the project - the girl consoled by nature finally materialized. This project is apparently a very personal piece. You’d think that the personal is simple because it’s just you but it’s the most complex thing I have taken on yet.

My grief grows with my knowledge of the world.