From the eighties into the two-thousands, Sheron Rupp traversed the United States, with her camera, lingering in the yards of the small towns she visited and documenting the ways that private life can spill out into public view.
The subjects of Sheron Rupp’s photographs can often be found in their yards, where garden hoses twist in loops near their bare ankles and kids take up broken branches as props. People young and old move through gardens, sit back on porches, and stand amid drying laundry. Grass has been worn to dirt in patches between driveways and front steps. For two and a half decades, from the eighties into the two-thousands, Rupp traversed the United States, with her camera, lingering in rural towns. She would spot something that interested her—kiddie pools, bird houses, bicycles—pull over to the side of the road, and spark conversations with whoever she encountered. Only after getting to know them would she explain that she was a photographer. In her new book, “Taken From Memory,” we see the results of those acquaintanceships and the many ways that private life can spill out into public view.
