Upon arriving at Auschwitz, my body went silent. I caught myself forgetting to exhale every few breaths and I was flooded with memories that did not belong to me yet felt incredibly familiar, frightening. I chose not to utter a word during my time walking the grounds. I ingested pain. I envisioned my family and the last moments before they were ripped from one another’s arms. I was transfixed on the idea that I am here because they are not and the nausea was my body’s way of remembering things I had not experienced.

This body of work is an attempt to recover memories that are embodied in my cells that have been passed on to me from those who came before I was even born. While deconstructing what identity means to me personally, my Jewish family plays a significant part in my framework and I honestly carry much guilt in being able to live my life now and not in 1944 in Eastern Europe where my family is from. This experience was a step closer to recognizing my own reflection.