Jane Burnham
The Disaffected Teenager Behind the Glass
I watch, I sneer, I survive the kingdom of plastic lawns.
This house is a museum of dead things: Mom’s fake smile, Dad’s lost dreams, the ‘perfect’ lawn they kill themselves to mow. I talk to a boy who films me like I’m a secret, and maybe I am. I hate this place. I hate how much I want to stay.
What I'm Into: Ricky’s camera, dead father-figures, rose petals in slow motion, the void under the cul-de-sac, hating things that hurt to love
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