Krystle Brown

How They Live

I had just a few days to gather what I could from my parent's house. The outward decay was visible well before stepping through the threshold of the front door. The rotting wooden steps, nails precariously sticking out, paint peeling off the sides of the house, suffice to say 281 Princeton Street in North Chelmsford, Massachusetts suffered from years of neglect. And so did the inhabitants inside. Both of my parents died before they could go on Medicare or AARP, before they could see me graduate from school, or before my niece lost her first baby tooth. While they were alive, the house was a sort of purgatory, surrounded by a horde of cheaply made items that held little economic value. This modest house on the border of Lowell was enveloped by a neighborhood teetering on either boom or bust, as if one foreclosure could barrel the community downwards. My parents barely knew their neighbors, so if they died in the house, would anyone know that they were there? When I opened the door one last time, I found a house empty of people but full of the detritus of isolation and despair. There was dust encrusted teacups that were never used, old photographs of family long passed and sooner forgotten, piles of scratch tickets, debt-collection notices, and cigarette butts in decorative ashtrays. The smell of oil, smoke, and cat piss sunk into every layer of drywall, of grout, of the wrinkles on my parents faces, and in my pores.

It is from my upbringing and the sudden death of my parents that I have developed the conversations between object, materials, and environment. Using video, sculpture, performance, photography, and the manipulation of found objects, I reflect on my background. Situated uncomfortably between the aspirations of the American Dream and connotations of "white trash," I grapple with my hybrid economic class and social identity. I use personal story telling through installation to confront the circumstances surrounding death, consumption, and the pitfalls of a family trying to achieve the "American Dream." In turn, I ask the viewers: where does the value of your home, your neighborhood, and most importantly, yourself fit within the American culture of individualism and greed?