Every Image I Ever Was 03
2026, Archival Inkjet Print, 30 x 36 in
A flower photograph taken by Miller’s mother is re-created by computer and projected across a wrecked mobile home at dusk. The image follows the torn edges, dents, and folds of the structure until the building appears almost swallowed by flowers and greenery. The damaged home becomes a broken vessel, carrying the trace of another image.
Abandoned buildings are often slowly taken over by real plants. Here, that reclamation happens through light. The greenery does not actually grow across the structure, but its image covers the surface as if it were taking over. For a moment, a family photograph becomes part of the damaged home itself.
A diffusion reconstruction of a close-up photograph my mother took of a flower in a bush, projected across the exterior of a wrecked mobile home at dusk. The image wraps around every surface of the structure, pouring over its torn edges and folds until the whole thing is swallowed by the image. A mobile home, a shelter built to move and never quite settle, takes on the image at the moment of its collapse, one broken vessel wearing the trace of another. Where vines and greenery slowly reclaim an abandoned structure, here that overtaking is staged in light; synthetic greenery is reclaiming and consuming this abandoned structure.
