Growing up I heard stories about escaping death, being hunted down, learned about how my grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins, and even a half sister were killed. I also heard stories about my mother’s heroism in saving hundreds of people’s lives as a Jewish partisan. I learned that people could be evil and commit unforgivable acts. The world they came from seemed black and white with splashes of blood red.

Because all of my adult family members were Holocaust survivors, social justice and “man’s inhumanity to man” were central themes in our home. Their stories are the bedrock of my work.

My work is based in intersectional feminism and privileges the act of listening, being heard, and hearing. When we share stories we become a community, less alone. However, telling the most private of our stories requires fortitude and sometimes listening does too. Whether the community member is recording an audio story for a video, sitting inside an installation telling a stranger a secret, entering a performance space or solely witnessing the work, the viewer becomes a participant compelled to engage as their own memories are evoked.