The phone call came on a Wednesday in December: "Hi. Dad's dead." It was unexpected. And expected. A message I was afraid of since I was a child.
I needed to process.
My photography changed pace. I let random be a part in the process. Everything slow, but still spontaneous. It slowed down my thoughts. Allowed myself not to know what I was doing, really.
I still don't really know where it might lead, and yet I'm not out "on the other side". But maybe I am on the right track. The images change character. The image that a few months ago felt very dark now feels light - or in any case lighter.
I'm still looking for a title for what I do - but it is difficult, it changes all the time. I still can't get a firm grip of it. It has to be [No Title] for the moment.
Right now, maybe fifty images are required just to say just a word. But, as Jack Kerouac wrote in The Dharma Bums: "One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."