My body was pregnant for eleven weeks and two days.

I could not look at these images again for two years. It was only after the birth of my son that I could return to them and when I did, I began cutting into them with a scalpel, removing myself from the scenes and replacing the space with landscapes. It was through that manipulation that the images began to feel like my inner reality.

Miscarriage is one of the most common losses a woman can experience and one of the least spoken about. There is almost no public language for it. No ritual, or ceremony and no acknowledgement of what was lost.

These photographs are what I have instead.