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.
The shadow of my head has crept into the corner of this image – I must have stopped in my tracks at the sight of the fish head then quickly taken the picture not noticing my shadow. Or perhaps I did notice and deliberately included it. Whether accidental or not I like that it’s there – a trace of my presence as a long ago self.