For the past three months I have been photographing my mother through a window at her skilled nursing inpatient facility in Bloomington, Indiana, where she has been in isolation since the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak. A consistent aspect within these images is the depiction of food in my mom’s room. A frequent object is the Styrofoam cup with lid and straw, sometimes more than one. Processed foods, such as crackers and cookies, often make an appearance. I bring my mom, who I call Mamãe, a home-cooked meal from time to time, which she devours as best she can with the limited control of her hands. The images portray an extreme departure from the role food has played in my family, as a connector to my parents’ countries of origin (my mother is from Brazil and my father from Germany). My siblings and I grew up speaking a mix of...

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