For the past three years, I have turned my lens toward Astoria Park, a place deeply woven into the fabric of my family’s history. It is here that my mother, Betty, found solace and refuge as a teenager. As a child of this place, I have returned to it as an adult, drawn by the same pull of nature that once offered her peace. After her sudden passing in 2014, my exploration of this landscape has provided a path toward healing. In these photographs, I explore the park as both a site of memory and a symbol of ongoing transformation. Just as Astoria Park holds my mother’s past, it also cradles my own.
The images trace the contours of mourning and regeneration, presenting nature in states of flux, reflecting the delicate balance between loss and renewal. Each photograph acts as a meditation on the cycles of life that play out quietly within the park: the withering leaves of autumn, the fragile branches of bare trees, the soft decay of weathered stone. Yet, amidst the evidence of impermanence, there are signs of healing and regrowth—shoots pushing through cracked earth, the resilience of roots anchoring trees, the quiet persistence of the seasons.
The work is as much an homage to my mother and her connection to this park as it is an exploration of my own journey through grief, growth, and the fragile beauty of renewal. It is a quiet reflection on how spaces hold memory and unlock emotional portals to engage our inner worlds.
