Jewish thought suggests that the memory of an action is as primary as the action itself. This is to say that when my hand is wounded, I remember other hands. I trace ache back to other aches - when my mother grabbed my wrist too hard pulling me across the intersection, when my great-grandmother’s fingers went numb on the ship headed towards Cuba fleeing the Nazis, when Miriam’s palms enduringly poured water for the Hebrews throughout their biblical desert journey - this is how the Jew is able to fathom an ache.

Because no physical space is a constant for the Jewish diaspora, time and the rituals that steep into it are centered as a mode of carrying on. The bloodline of a folktale, a tradition, a song, pulses through interpretation and enactment. Treating photographs in ​Kavana​ as such, I explore notions of Jewish memory, narrative heirlooms, and interpretive image making; ​the works position themselves in the past as memories, in the present as stories being told, and in the future as rituals to interpret and repeat.​ To encounter an image in this way is not only to ask what it feels like, but to ask: what does it remember like?