“MY COUSINS, IN ARIZONA”

Arizona has been a constant in my otherwise English life.

My mother’s parents, the head honchos of the Morales family, have lived in a wooden house on a long drive since I can remember. My siblings - the Flynns - were their only grandkids who resisted spending holidays in the house. Similarly, we are the only grandkids with a white last name. The Olazabal, Hernandez and Morales children spent most every summer and winter in the house. We were also the only grandkids across the Pond, a 10-hour flight away. My eldest brother would cite this distance when he petitioned against the trip… and yet, the Morales children would voyage from Sao Paolo, Brazil - a 12-hour flight - twice a year with no complaint. The Flynns inevitably became the ‘periphery cousins’.

As young adults, we held our Hands Across America to close the separation between us. Hannah, Jake, Jack, Chase, Marcos, Zoey, Chris, Grace, Lucas, Nick, Sienna, Chico. All affectionately known as mija, foo, huevón by our grandfather.

(first) - In the woodland behind the house, I took this photograph of my cousin Marcos Morales, in early August.  I dressed him up as me - my foxhat, my deutschland scarf - an exercise in closing the emotional gap between us. It’s all to say: I am you, you are me, and we are what we are.

(second, third) - Marcos’ sister, one of two of my only female cousins, Sienna Morales, wearing my plankton shirt, my wolfhat and holding in a Halloweeny bucket her own tail. This was another exercise in seeing myself in my family. Sienna, my third youngest cousin, is growing into one of the most interesting women in the world.

As a teenager, I sometimes felt the need to self-immolate to make of myself a lamp for others. In my study of her, I’ve observed that this girl's light is a gentle glow…like a star, a guiding lighthouse. I am constantly thinking of this girl, what she will achieve, what she will learn and who she will teach.