The home is often expected to be a representation of the persons who inhabits it. This makes pictures of our homes oddly intimate and therefor a good place to project hopes and dreams.
But the opposite could also be true, a home with empty walls and dying plants rapidly transforms itself into a place that represents personal failure and lack of control. What is a home when you don’t really feel at home in it? I’m interested in the home as a place for storytelling. And in this piece: the home as a place of loneliness. With references from art history I’ve tried to portrait the home or more specifically, the image of the home, as it really feels: beautiful, confined and lonely.
I think it’s interesting how the home I’ve built takes over the home I live in and in that way exemplifies the unachievable dream, and the conflicting images of ”the home”.