I wrote this back in April, a few weeks into the first shut down. Shortly after we’d all been asked to stay in homes for an undetermined amount of time in order to keep everyone safe. Schools had closed down and we were all still getting used to this new life, a life which would have been unthinkable, impossible, just 8 weeks before.
“Eight weeks ago, the world as we know it in our country came to a screeching halt. We all watched with bated breath as our governors shut down our cities, asked us to stay inside or at least close to home. Like many people, I spent the next few days waking up in disbelief. Being met with the reality of the same nightmare morning after morning.
So many questions went through my head hourly. How would I protect my family? Will my boys ever go back to school? What will happen to our jobs? I couldn’t help but think of all that had been lost overnight, like a rug ripped right out from under us. A rug I didn’t know I had been balancing on all this time.
I spent a lot of time mourning my old life. It came in waves, just like grief. One minute I was enjoying not having the usual morning rush, the next I was curled up in a ball not knowing how I’d get through the day attempting to work, watch kids, figure out homeschool, and make 3 meals and 50 snacks.
The one thing that saved us, were our daily walks. I would take the boys for a lap around the neighborhood and as we walked I realized I was noticing so much more than ever before. Beautiful weeping willows that I suppose had always been there, but I’d been too distracted to see. Little purple wildflowers that are so microscopic I would normally pass right by. How had I never seen these things before? Have I really been so distracted for the last 5? 10? 20? years that I’ve forgotten to look around?
One day, as we were out on one of our walks, I was looking around and I noticed a neighbor in her front window. She was bouncing a young baby, as she pointed to things outside. A new Mother, trapped inside her home, but still finding ways to bring joy to her day. Instinctively I waved excitedly to her. She smiled so big and waved back. Two mothers, both busy distracting their babies with nature, suddenly connected by the thread of this new desolation and confusion.
This, I realized, was not normal. I did not know this neighbor. She lives a few blocks away and we had never met. On a normal day, say in 2019, if I noticed a stranger though a window I would probably quickly look away and keep walking. I would be embarrassed, not wanting them to think I was staring or intruding in some way.
In that moment, though, it didn’t matter. We were just two Moms, both trying to entertain our children, both trying to get through the next hour, locking eyes and knowing we needed each other. Solidarity, even as she sat on one side of her large front window and I on the other, more separate than society has been in ages. In that moment, I felt this profound sense that we were more connected than ever. I had spent so much time mourning what I had lost that I had yet to see what all of this stillness and time with my children had offered to me, my family, the world.
I set out to photograph families exactly as they are right now through their front windows. Separated from society, but together in their homes. I wanted to see how that might translate through my lens and if I could capture that feeling that I first felt when I saw that Mama and her baby in those first few days.
My fears have not subsided. I am still terrified for all of those that have been affected by this terrible virus as well as those on the front lines trying to treat it, and there are no words for those who have lost loved ones to this. The best days are the ones where I can find a small bit of beauty in this forced slow down and time spent together and that’s what I hoped to capture here.”
