Around Midnight. ©Karen Bullock 2023

The Ship. ©Karen Bullock 2020

Birthday Balloons. ©Karen Bullock 2022

Restoration. ©Karen Bullock 2022

Ripening. ©Karen Bullock 2020

Shadows on the Screen Door, ©Karen Bullock 2019

It’s Complicated. ©Karen Bullock 2019

In the Driveway. ©Karen Bullock 2019

In the Kitchen at Night. ©Karen Bullock

Boots in the Bedroom. ©Karen Bullock 2018

Dwelling.

I began this series in 2018, not quite knowing why. I tried to articulate it in the fall of 2023, when I wrote, "I love my family. It crushes me to think of their mortality or mine. I dwell in the sweetness of now, even as a not-yet-grief faintly whispers that this is all ephemeral." Just two months after I wrote that, my father died.

Afterward, I tried to make more photographs for this collection but grief no longer whispered. It roared. The project was finished. I finally understood why I had been making these photographs; I was dwelling in loss that had not yet arrived. I felt its coming as I wandered around the house at all hours photographing home and memory and love.

Grandmother’s Portrait & Glass Deer at 3am. ©Karen Bullock 2020

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The following was written prior to my father’s passing, as I tried to describe to others and to myself a feeling circling below the surface.

“Part of the story is mine. Yet I frame it tenderly, knowing it is their’s too.

There are tiny treasures here that once belonged to those who have gone: a delicate glass deer being chased by two cartoonish dogs, a kitschy painting of a ship, and a box of photos, some so old we no longer know whose faces we are looking at.

Today we laugh over recollections shared or argue that this happened or that. Our stories intersect & then veer away & merge again. We sit in rockers or the porch swing for the romance of it while working to be of one accord. Later we stand in the kitchen eating the lemon ice box pie we made together. It is tart and, like most recipes passed down through generations, satisfyingly good.

I love my family so deeply, it crushes me to think of their mortality or mine.

I dwell in the sweetness of now, even as a not-yet-grief faintly whispers, “This is all ephemeral.”

The house is small & a thing of beauty–carved mantels above the hearths, wood & glass cut to form diamond-shaped panes on the window tops, heart-of-pine floors scuffed by heels & paws, & oak doors that aren’t close to square. It is also in constant need of mending. Just yesterday, my husband climbed a ladder to replace a soffit. Maybe the house is an obvious allegory to describe us all.

Through the camera, I attempt to honor home and the people, the love, yearning, & dreams of my heart.”

©Karen Bullock 2023

The Storm. ©Karen Bullock 2019

Laundry Day. ©Karen Bullock 2019

He Always Uses Pen. ©Karen Bullock 2022

Out Front. ©Karen Bullock 2020

When I was a Child. ©Karen Bullock 2019

Insomnia. ©Karen Bullock 2023

Are You Here? ©Karen Bullock

All Photographs, Writing, and Content ©Karen Bullock, 2023, All Rights Reserved. No part of this website (karenbphotos.com) including, but not limited to— photographs, text, logo, etc., may be reproduced, downloaded, re-posted, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, printing, recording, or otherwise; and no photographs, art, or text on this website may be used for AI training, any other kind of AI use, or for derivative art of any kind without the prior written permission of the artist.