It’s unseasonably warm during this first week of January, mid sixties and sunny. I have a rental car, a Ford Focus whose front wheel drive handles nicely and I can pound on. I got over to 36 Leyden Avenue to spend a late afternoon at my grandmother’s house where my uncle has lived upstairs for seventy-one years.
I brought my Spectra Pro and Nikon digital camera to take in my grandmother’s untouched surroundings, two years after her death, in the quiet of this afternoon. I want to keep going back and continue putting together images of her space—what I have while she was here and now gone…but why? She’s not there, only her remnants. It’s seems like a rare opportunity; nothing has been changed. Her space now becomes a meditation and as long as it remains the same, I can return and find meaning in making some images in some sort of odd time-standing-still recollection of her place in that kitchen, that bedroom, that living room. Her voice lingers.
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