My triptych is designed to add up to one cinema widescreen, so that each panel represents one scene. Like in Tarkovsky’s film Mirror, which inspired the work, the relationship between consecutive scenes is poetic, rather than chronological.
Both works are about loss: loss of childhood, loss of innocence, loss of time. In my paintings, my welly, lost when I was a toddler, sinks into a bog; my mother, days after the last of her children has left for university, waits at the end of a corridor of trees, seemingly for my sister and I as children, in the final panel, picking flowers in our garden. The act of flower picking interested me when I found the photograph of us. Like moments in time, flowers must be dead, to have passed, to belong to us. This symbolises the act of remembrance: destroying moments so that we might own them.
I intended it to have the reverence of a religious triptych – a homage to our childhood and my family’s shared history. As a lapsed Catholic, I tried to explore the familial values of innocence, love and sacrifice at the heart of the faith without the presence of a supernatural God.