Untitled (work in progress)
I have kept these images singularly archived as individual pieces of interest. Photographs that I picked out from a negative with the rest of its narrative. These stood out as needles piercing through my memory.
I struggled to find words to describe these. Talking to friends and colleagues about what I was doing did not allow me to get into specific terms - not that I could. Instead, I was limited by the translation of poetry.
I cannot explain a term that my grandparents used to say in my small village. But I can give a sense of it to someone - after a long, unnecessary, excruciating explanation. How can anyone but me know how my grandmother used to pick up the flowers, peel potatoes and flick through pages?
There is no fair way to grasp what I am looking at. It is an amplified photograph. It is in a way what makes a photograph itself.
Perhaps this is about loss, about thoughts and encounters. About hunting, finding, rummaging and discarding. Maybe it touches on longing. But there is more to consider. There is something else in these.
Not all of them will have the same effect on everyone - that is simply true.
But they all act in a self-referencing way.
You and I, looking at photographs.