Stone Ray-Peacock

Growing up in rural Georgia presented me with an entire world of visual references that I have been photographing for the last 2 years. I spent several days sleeping in my car, driving around the back roads of Georgia, coming across abandoned spaces and objects. I often find old barns, farming houses, and even the random abandoned plantation house. I'm interested in the idea of modern artifacts and how objects we leave behind can be seen in the future. How long do things need to be left behind before they can be considered artifacts? Photographing these things is a way to preserve them and make them everlasting. I often can not relocate to the places I find while traveling, so I never know what becomes of the items or spaces they reside.

Additionally, I've been using printmaking to take the photographs I already have and adding additional elements such as maps, Georgia iconography, and strategic layering to contextualize the images.

Also, I've been lucky enough to have a friend write direct responses to some of my photography to introduce a new type of voice to the reaction of Georgia. As a white person handling the heavy burden of "being in love with Georgia," I've only been able to respond to those feelings in a visual sense through my photos. However, Cassi has verbalized those feelings from the black perspective. I've included an example of one of her poems below.

Your clothes hanger shoulders slouch
Like the broad face of the hill
That yawns towards the pasture
That you inherited from your
Fathers, fathers, father.
Charcoal skin inherited from centuries in the sun
Cracks around your knuckles, dry
like red clay in a drought,
As You plow the same soil
You've stricken for decades.
Your son stands on the threshold.
Of a home sliding off its foundation,
His ears plugged with contraptions
You shrink
Away from.
He sings a song in a language
Now foreign to you,
The language of rebellion,
That sets your brittle bones
Ablaze.
Your teeth grind and catch
On the thick resent between you
And you remember your youth
When you, too,
Thought you would leave this place.
-Cassi Richards