Nowhere But Up

I met my father for the first time in 2002. I was twenty-five years old.

Over the course of ten months I photographed him, his friends, and the surroundings that made up his hard-living average life in Visalia, California. When he passed away in 2003, I inherited

his single wide trailer and all the contents therein. This is how I began to really know my father, through his belongings, his photographs and letters.

Only after his death did I begin to understand why I grew up without him.