Katie Harwood

In 1996, my parents divorced and my experience of that time is present as I make this work. I am fascinated by the perceived breakdown in the rules of decorum that takes place during this annual purging. It is like a collective and approved of airing of dirty laundry. Items that were full of memories and bare evidence of their users transform into torn, misshapen piles for anyone to see. Most of the items become trash and end up in the landfill. Scratching at the perceived façade of my home town, I question if everything is really fine here.