In the years leading up to my father’s death, knowing that his home and the house I grew up would one day be dismantled and all its objects sent to the four winds, I began to take photos in order to remember. The furniture and objects in my family’s house had fixed places and year upon year nothing moved or changed – or at least very little. During the years my father lived there alone the original arrangements were overlaid with odd items, such a pills or items kept in the paper bags they came in. Now that my father has passed away and the house is gone I am left wondering why on earth I didn’t take even more photographs. I suppose there are any number of reasons for my reticence; many of these things are so familiar to me as to become almost invisible, others are or seem to be banal. These pictures have assumed a greater importance through the accretion of time and have significance for me that may not be readily shared.