I was born on her birthday. My granny was the greatest love and loss of my childhood. My fondest memories were in the alterations department in which she worked, getting lost amongst the whir of machines, boxes of discarded buttons and dressing rooms. It was a playground of sorts, and my most vivid memories of a rel
ationship that ended too soon.
Growing older I’ve discovered that I knew very little about her as a person, remembering only the love that was given. These photographs serve as metaphors for the way we alter, mend, and piece together memories, in order to make sense of what we have lost.