Most of my childhood I cannot remember. From walking down the street with my parents, to birthday parties or trips to the beach, I can only remember fragmented moments that were never documented. This leaves me distrusting of my memories, as they increasingly disintegrate with each attempt to recover these moments. The family photographs I possess have become sacred—objects that hold moments and individuals I am unfamiliar with, yet wholly important to me due to their ability to inform what I cannot remember. Through the process of distorting the images by hand, with water and layers of encaustic, there is a sense of fragility and transparency that is brought to life—creating a collection of dishonest memories and an attempt to preserve what recollections I have left.