There’s something strangely beautiful about our house right now. It’s been blown wide open, and behind layers of drywall we can now see all the original wooden framing. Remnants of powder blue paint covers the cement walls in the basement. And the crumbling red bricks reveal neon pink numbers. I’m not quite sure what the measurements denote. The back is wide open, and the front door looks tiny. I’m half expecting Alice to walk in from Wonderland at any moment. It’s the raw materials, the glaring decay, that makes the visual experience both jarring and beautiful. Luma was playing in the dirt last week, scavenging for old tiles, and as I looked back at her floral shorts and grosgrain bows against the chaos and grit of construction, I couldn’t help but want to capture the moment.