I hope you don't mind

Throughout my life I have had dreams about my father. Dreams where he died under different circumstances or never died at all. When I was 16 my mother handed me a binder of letters and documents about my father. These letters, beautifully written on floral parchment, further romanticized the story that has been told to me of my parents' relationship. They speak of his exemplary work ethic, his neatness and of his passion for gardening. These letters read like letters of recommendation calling on me to believe that his love for me was endless and that God needed him for a mission. 

My approach was to find out more about my father. I took the memories of him and removed the film of rose-colored nostalgia that was placed over them. I analyzed the letters finding the facts that applied to the both of us. I explored the DNA we share finding him in my hair and in my eyes. I used performance to experience his disease and his guilt. Through these acts I have begun to understand my father outside of the frame of a husband and a lover and more as a man who I can see within myself.