PM000000110000005330 15: 2012 § 6 Comments

Home is where the heart is, but what happens when the heart is ripped out of your home?  Your home becomes your refuge but at the same time it is unrecognisable – it becomes a ‘strange and unfamiliar place.’ Absence haunts the house.  Every room becomes a repository of memories, every object a reminder of happier times. Remembrance of times past lies in wait in every corner, ready to pounce as you pass by.

These photographs were made in response to the death of my 17-year old daughter.



§ 6 Responses to Absence

  • Sorry to hear the background to these pictures. Very strong and moving photographs. If i did not know the background i would have read these pictures as ‘hope’ due to the presence light rims in the darkness.

  • John Levett says:

    Loss: some decades ago, when my mother died I removed all evidence of her in short time. I didn’t dwell on any item, didn’t think of its signifcance for her or me, didn’t reflect upon its provenance or its origin. I retained photographs & letters that she wrote to me whilst dying; items that could be easily put aside or into drawers and cupboards but nothing that hit me when I walked into a room. When I moved out of the house a few years later many of these smaller remembrances went too, along with sacks of my own history as child, youth & adult. It was almost as if any avenue of communication with her was removed; reflecting the abbreviated communication we had whilst she was alive. This morning I had an email from a friend in Austin describing the long-expected death of her father this last weekend. She talked about watersheds and how the event is triggering others; movements in space (will she move to care for her mother) and movements in time (giving up work, taking up politics). No falling apart or postponing it? Loss put into abeyance?

    Thank you for this collection. I walk similar ‘streets’.

    • nickscammell says:

      How short life must be, if something so fragile can last a lifetime – Kafka

      We talk of people ‘being gone’, suggestive of an absence persisting, continuing to be – an absence needing our presence in order to be sustained. That the one gone ‘is’ as long we ‘are.’

      And the tears are a frozen lake with no clear shore – Paul Muratov

  • ingridnewton says:

    We all have to walk these streets at some point. In my case, I found the possessions and photographs, all the paraphernalia of a life, was an essential part of working through what had happened. Bit by bit I let go but only in my own time. For me there are no watersheds, only a gradual flowing from one state to another.

    Thank you for your thoughtful comments.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading Absence at home :: a crossing lines blog.


%d bloggers like this: