This book’s concept arose from my album “Honeymoon,” which is about the death of a former partner after a short but strong relationship — planting the concept of death within the idea of impermanence. I use found plant materials, including flower petals and roots, to analogize the quick bloom and death of springtime flowers with the loss of the relationship. I include lyrics from the album on the pages of the book — both handwritten and transferred — to blend these stories.
The flowers that fill the pages are plucked from the ground, swept from the dirt, ridded of impurities, soaked in soda ash, swirled in pulp, and pressed into permanence — all in the effort to preserve a fraction of their life amid their death. Everything in this book is made of things that have died, from the plants in the pages to the content on top of them, drawing attention to life through the lens of impermanence. There will always be things that disappear, that die, that move on from us, that we are supposed to move on from. But this work finds power in preservation in an admission of what must be laid to rest.
You can listen to the album "Honeymoon" at this link: https://ffm.to/honeymoon-jacobrichey]]> The project centered around replicating a memory through stop-motion. At the time, I was
missing home, particularly my room, which prompted me to consider how the space had evolved
up until I left for college. I wanted the film to reflect the childhood association I have with my
room, so I aimed at using materials that reflect childhood nostalgia for me: dollhouse furniture,
paper dolls, stickers, colorful and patterned craft supplies. I wanted to portray my room as more
than just the space that sheltered me growing up and more like a being on its own that reflected
different chapters of my childhood and a place for creative expression. For a lot of us our
bedrooms were the only places that were truly ours. In a lot of ways, it mimics the ebbs and
flows of life. The colors change, furniture shifts around, some things leave, and some things stay
the whole time, leading up to the point we eventually leave that vessel behind. Though this was
originally just created for a class, it quickly meant much more to me. My hope for the audience is
that they can reflect on their own sacred spaces as children, think about how it changed with
them, and how it helped shape them into the people they are today.]]> The photographs emphasize presence over polish. Wrinkles, posture, poses, and expressions carry the evidence of time; of work, love, loss, endurance, and joy. The images visually explore what each participant discussed in her interview, whether through people, props, framing, or light. In this project, age is not softened or disguised; it is allowed to exist fully within the frame. The images are paired with words that reveal how aging reshapes one’s relationship to the self.
One woman described the moment she first felt old: “The first time I knew I was old was after I fell by simply just walking up my driveway and nearly broke my foot. I thought, ‘Oh God, the time has come. I’m old!’ That moment stuck with me; knowing my body wouldn’t bounce back like it used to. The journey to acceptance isn’t easy, it’s almost like a prolonged denial that I’m getting older. But adapting and taking my time and paying closer attention to my body has made me feel closer to it in a way. I double knot my shoes now, wear a brace by choice, and take life a little bit slower. But slow is not bad. Slow is intentional, slow is careful, and can be beautiful if you let it.”
In a culture that often stigmatizes older women as invisible, incapable, or burdensome, these portraits tell a different story. The women photographed here are thoughtful, humorous, reflective, and generous with their insight. Beauty emerges not from youth, but from wisdom.]]>