posted by Anthony

For me, home is only a symbol — a symbol for a state of being in which mind, body and soul are finally at peace. Home itself isn’t tangible but can exist among tangible things. Being at home can be an experience shared with people — whether family, friends, or acquaintances — but also one that can be experienced alone in solitude. Home is not found without but within, in the space where resolution and restoration take place. Home is not where I was born, where I grew up, where I went to school, where I worked, where I have traveled, or even a locale of respite. It can be associated with these things, but they are only illusions for something more profound. In many senses, the home I seek today is not the one I sought in years past; neither will it be the one I shall press for in the years to come. I am not sure if home is a permanent fixture or only some passing figment; but one thing I am sure of: it is subject to metamorphosis.

This bench, glimpsed through the viewfinder of my father’s Olympus OM camera, is a portrait of where I have been home — a yard in Minnesota.