This is a piece from my Confluence Series.
Print Method: Archival pigment print face-mounted to acrylic
Size: 30 x 40 inches
Backing: DiBond with museum float mount
Edition: Limited edition of 10 + 2 artist proofs
Signed and numbered on reverse
Four months after my daughter was born, my father drowned in Lake Lanier—a man-made lake just outside Atlanta, where I spent much of my childhood on the water. We had a boat, and weekends were filled with boat rides, friends tying up side by side, sub sandwiches, and nights rocking to sleep in a cabin under the bow.
Before my children were born, my husband asked what great love I hoped to pass on to them. I said, without hesitation: my love of the water.
As a child, I dove to the bottom of pools holding my breath, pretending to be a mermaid. I was a competitive swimmer and diver. Water gave me joy, identity, and freedom.
That great love was ripped from me in an instant.
After my father died, water became my greatest fear. My children were zipped into life vests before they could walk. Teaching them to swim triggered panic attacks and waves of grief I couldn’t always explain.
Over time, our shared love of the water returned—not without fear, but alongside it. We found beauty within great sadness.
There’s a Japanese phrase that describes this feeling—beauty tinged with sadness. That is how I now experience water: as something that gave me everything and took something I can never get back.
The water still reflects pieces of him. Maybe memory. Maybe something more.
Water is my alpha and omega—my lifelong comfort and sadness.
