When I was a little girl, I loved to draw houses. Little houses like crooked teeth jutting from a crayoned line. I have a complicated relationship to the idea of home. There is a Welsh word, Hiraeth, which means a longing for a home that no longer exists, or may have never truly been. As a child, home was geography, not a specific structure. Home was the tides, the backwoods, the wild blueberry bushes and the curve of the dunes. At one point, as a teenager, everything I owned was in the back of a car, as I no longer had a physical home. But I always had a place. This series explores the relationship of memory and place, both geographical and emotional. It veers into the realm of dreams and fairy tales and imagines a topography of memory, what is visible and what lies beneath. Using family papers, photographs and letters as an underpainting, these memories are embedded in the landscape both literally and figuratively. This series is a love letter to the idea of finding a place, a home, in this wild and mysterious world.