"A few years ago, my Pop-Pop began to lose his memory. It started with small lapses that we initially attributed to old age, yet soon he would begin to forget conversations, names of loved ones, and even how to get home. " A photographic journey through a day in the life of Ernest Taylor.
"He is five years old again. He has only ever been five. The sun is bearing down upon his Brooklyn block. You could fry a knish on the pavement." Fiction.
"My earliest memories are of garish red and green kitsch Christmas lights, some black faces but more white ones, set against chalk walls and the whiter still sand and unapologetic deep blue of the Indian Ocean, returning relentlessly to it the way we return to each other, in waves. Accompanying this visual is always the sound of Malaika."