For this series, I wiped away the dust and cobwebs from an old wooden box hidden in the back corner of my closet; with unsteady hands, I pulled out its contents and photographed the jugular of my soul.  As Robert Adams writes that not all photographs are beautiful, this is a testament that not all stories are either.  In my early 20’s, I had an abortion.  I was not a victim of rape and this was not the result of a one night stand; I was a recent college graduate in a committed relationship and I terminated my pregnancy.  In this body of work, I tell my story and there is no pretending that it is pretty, but sometimes stories and images are just that, unapologetically told, and that the only beauty to be had is in its truth.  

For years my story has sat in the shadows, my heart squeezed by its hands and my lips sealed by its shame.  In this series, I pick through the pieces of my fractured heart as I navigate through the valleys of my soul, sharing secrets only whispered in the dark.