PHOTOGRAPHER, GUMBAYNGGIRR COUNTRY NSW
SARA-JAYNE PRINCE
HOMEBODIES - 2023
“It often occurs to me when people come to visit my home that I have a whole museum of curious objects on display… Objects that to someone else mean nothing, but to me have a strong meaning attached. Whether it be a sense of nostalgia of the place the object came from, the story of how it came to be in existence or some kind of emotional reminder of something /someone.
I revisited this thought recently when packing a box of items to save in case of a bushfire. Not much of commercial value but a whole lot of old concert tickets, letters and irreplaceable nicknacks that serve as memory. These photographs aim to capture that thought process, of object as memory, using some of the ‘things’ around my home.”
THE NEST
A hot Spring wind blew that year,
in the lead up to the 2019 bushfires,
when the backyard was coated in a thin layer of ash
and burning leaves carried on the wind.
I kept finding these nests fallen to the ground
Nests and baby fruit bats.
It was common that season, they couldn’t survive the dry heat.
Placed inside,
A perfect Cowrie shell.
Found at a time when it felt like a good omen.
BOGEY MAN
As a child I was afraid of the dark.
When they tucked me in, my parents would ritually close the wardrobe doors
and check underneath the bed
I would wake in the night convinced of a sinister presence.
As an adult,
this piece of wood has served as a plant hanging stand
(and home for spiders) in my bedroom for several years now.
Ironically it often appears as a shadowy figure standing in the corner of the room,
A bogeyman.
THREE FOSSILS
The Summer I finally succeeded at growing Dill,
a staple in my Hungarian family recipes.
Evidence of a dinosaur tree.
A time capsule in rock.
THREE EGGS
The first egg
An outback town on a long dusty road trip.
Dinosaur statues and a souvenir shop selling rocks and fossils.
I sent the other half of this egg to a good friend who moved to London.
The second egg
Played by many different hands on late night jam sessions
(usually following a cocktal fuelled dinner party)
The third egg
A flea market in Barcelona many years ago
I was always convinced it held a secret compartment I hadn’t discovered yet.
I couldn’t speak Spanish and I still don’t know its purpose,
which has always made it even more special to me.