Mornings (With You)
It's breakfast time.
You're sitting across from me.
In one hand, you're holding a spoon. In the other, a remote.
A camera sits on a tripod across from us.
You stir your coffee. Then raise your hand to press down on the remote.
The camera flashes. You press the button again.
You hand the remote to me.
This is how our mornings begin.
We are both at the same level, at the same starting point.
When I last saw you, Papa, I was seven. We left our home in Moscow and moved to America. We never said goodbye to you.
It has been five years since I found you in Armenia.
This is a series of images we've created at your home, 20 years after we separated.