When my grandmother passed away, I was in a faraway place. She was the epitome of worldly purity to me, and her house reminded me of my childhood’s summery memories in Khoi.
When I got there they had already buried her, so I never saw the image of death on her face. I spent that night at my grandmother’s house, and, for the first time, alone. The windows of her house were tall, with many vases being brought inside during winter.
I shot the flowers relentlessly, with no photographic concerns, as if I wanted to make my lost grandmother and my childhood nostalgia my own, forever imagining her fingers spinning the threads on the vases.
“After Grandmother” was a new beginning for me: a new opportunity to live a changed life in the world of photography.