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 Khoy.
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. Her windows were tall, with vases that had been brought in, for it was a very cold 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 Grandma” was a new beginning for me: a new opportunity to live a changed life in the world of photography.