Emmy Hicks-Jablons

We hear many sounds.

Listen to the loud


Listen to the water.

Listen to our walking


Listen to the records.

Listen to therecords.

Listen to the chalk as it

moves on the board.

I tell jokes to photographs hung on the wall. They’re mostly about hell and mothers and feeling like a child, constantly picked up and placed down. My mother’s voice guides me through a day with no sun.

I ask the picture where it hurts. Hold its body against the window and construct a new conversation with old news. When an image bleeds it escapes a boundary, crosses a line, shows its cards. I stand inside the turret that rests on my right arm; light taps me on the shoulder and explains the picture. It unleashes a police dog onto a baby who shares the fate of the page.

I want these photographs to be curious and question surface, to dig beneath the earth, like a dog or a child, past the space presented to them. I want them to wash away concrete and ground the glitch. To place searching as a destination. I point my camera with a desperation to mark moments with unresolved meaning, moments to return to. I dogear the page.

Contact information
email: ehicksja@pratt.edu
Instagram: @emmyhicksj
Web:  emmyopal.com