I have had these photos for about 2 months now- since Nan passed away and Mum and I decided to document the family heirlooms which seemed to multiply every time I peered into a display cabinet. I was holding back on this post, trying to decide what to say. I wanted it to be poignant, heart-felt and fundamentally about family; the relationships that occur within the family sphere, and the impact of heritage on identity. Nearly every day during this time I have pondered what to write, and I have arrived at a dead-end each time.

Everyday I am reminded of the importance of family and the immense impact that the people we are close to have in our lives. To my three-year old students, family is an omnipotant god which consists of whoever happens to take care of them, providing them with love, food, shelter and security. It makes me think back to the moments in my own life when I realised that the people in my own family were actual people with their own identities outside of my preconceived ideas, and then, the way different members of my family came together over Nan’s hospital bed, and have been closer since.

How can I even begin to describe what it all means to me, let alone the sheer improbability of me staring at an item that belonged to a woman 100 years ago, knowing that although we never knew each other we are fundamentally connected by genetics, a handful of vague stories and some painted china or glass.