The last of my New England images + a few of my favorites that some of you have seen already. All images taken in February of this year (except for the image of my grandpa, which was taken last September), with a Minolta x-700, Canon AE-1, or Rolleicord III.
It was therapeutic for me in many ways to photograph my grandfather’s house during these two weeks in Massachusetts. Part of our trip was spent dealing with the fact that he had an aggressive, fast-moving form of lung cancer, and the other part, after he died, was spent dealing with the basic fact that he wasn’t alive anymore. After he passed I would sometimes sit at the kitchen table, watching the late afternoon light play across the room, seeing it yellow and soften and lengthen, and I would imagine what life was like 40, 50 years ago, as my grandmother started dinner and moved around the house. To be honest, I didn’t really know what I wanted to photograph. I missed my grandpa. I hated how empty the house felt without him there. I was also reminded at every turn of losing my father five years ago. One of the difficult things about losing someone is that their absence will make you recall the loss of others, almost like a layering affect. You’re never really just losing one person. You’re losing everyone else you’ve lost in the past, too, all over again.
For me, making images in his house was less about the process of capturing, and more about searching for a way to connect to him again. All I really knew was that I was after the kind of light that makes you ache. And when I started to ache, it was time to click the shutter. Exploring his house became an exploration of light, and a way to connect with him again, and all the younger versions of my family that had lived there.
Every house has a soul, I think. And my grandfather’s is no exception.
Love letters we found in a drawer from my grandmother to my grandfather, circa 1947.
my beautiful grandfather.
cold, rainy version:
warm, sunny one.