Artist Statement
I met with a medium.

She began by sharing what she could see: I had three roommates, and our door has been having trouble locking since December. Also, on most nights, she knew that I’ve been waking up at 3am, and that it’s been happening since October.

She said it’s because of spirits trying to communicate with me.

She went on to ask if I’ve had any near-death experiences. To her, it appeared I may have been six or seven, and that it would have been water-related. I was seven when I almost drowned in the ocean.

She believes that’s what opened me up to spirits.

She ended by describing a woman, asking if I knew who she might be. Someone, say, five to six years older than me, someone who’s like an older sister, someone who I’ve known in many past lives.

She said, “and this is a weird little thing that might make you more aware of who I’m talking about. When you see her again, see if there's an issue with one of her eyes. It's a little thing, but I have to bring it up.”

I saw Hannah the following week; she had gone blind for several hours, just days before I met with the medium.

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Through an ongoing collaboration with the medium, Suzan “Fiona” Saxman, The Sun Danced That Day reflects upon how text and image ask for and negotiate with faith, belief, and perception. Since my initial meeting with Suzan, I have continued to visit her, receiving additional readings, following up on previous predictions, and bringing my photographs for further directions. I’m interested in how following her readings may fundamentally alter how I interact with the world. This extends from the decisions I make and the possibility of fate to how, phenomenologically, what I notice, search for, and attempt to conjure may be shaped by the trust I place in her predictions and insights. In this way, her readings don't simply predict what I may encounter, but, even subconsciously, construct what I understand as significant.

Suzan believes her abilities are possible because of quantum physics, the idea that past, present, and future are all happening all at once. For me to ignore my experiences with her and deny that she has capabilities beyond what is ontologically provable feels deeply and troublingly unempathetic. I worry about how predominant Western cultural beliefs discredit her and lead to her being othered without considering why more bodily forms of knowledge are being dismissed. Rooted in an effort to share reverence for Suzan, I treat her readings as guidelines for making this work. Using the camera, a tool historically tethered to attempts to document reality, I challenge our assumptions about what is real and how viewers extend gestures of trust, care, and empathy.