My father photographed family situations; us as children, birthdays, the garden, his wife. Sometimes he’d give the camera to my mother, whose glasses have always been extremely thick. I remember one photograph my mother took of my older brother when he was a small todler. He was playing in long yellow grass, running towards her. The grass was perfectly in focus, and my brother was a ghostly blur.
I’ve always interpreted bluring, morphing, drawing over and augmenting people’s faces as the changing of mental stability.