I am drawn to make pictures that to delve into the deepest parts of my mind concerning my sexual assault. Now that I am uncovering all that I unknowingly repressed for 10 years, my memory has become hazy. As I shed light on my past to confront it, it becomes blinding, and fades faster and more violently with each passing second. Survivors of sexual assault and rape like myself often have guilt, and gaslight themselves into disbelieving their own story. Through extreme over and under exposure I manipulate the camera, and in doing so the viewer’s perception of me and my story. I have no idea what is made up in my head and what violence my body really endured since I have no proof. 

I seek evidence; proof of what he did to me. I turn my camera to my body; a sole witness, traumatized, yet bearing no marks. I expose my nude form, exhibiting my journey to confront residual effects of assault, while learning to accept my body. While I wear the same skin as that little girl who was assaulted, I am no longer her. 

Over the years, I have sought out ways to find control over my life, struggling at times with crippling anxiety. In my work, I am beginning to challenge myself by exploring loss of control by shooting with a plastic Holga camera.  The image I see when I take it never comes back to me. I’ll never see that moment again just the way I remembered it. 

a bridge both crossed and burning explores self-reflection as I navigate my understanding of my sexual assault while attempting to heal; to move on. By juxtaposing the prickly fear of being touched with the brilliant potency of desire, I capture the complicated ways in which we share ourselves in relationships. As I cope with flashes of my past, I push the extremes of both darkness and light as a way to conceal the truth, blurring the lines between reality and memory.

I thought that getting out of that relationship would be the end, but the bridge is still burning.