I didn’t know what to write about after my grandad passed away three weeks ago, because nothing seemed to matter in the same way suddenly. Worries faded down to feeble husks. I floated around London mechanically, whilst my thoughts departed to East Yorkshire. 'Existential' anxieties felt selfish and unimportant. I know he would have told me to stop thinking too much and just get on with it.
Since returning to England from my travelling stint, I have made an effort to reassess surroundings that I know well. It is a simple idea, but there is great depth to ordinary, familiar objects and places, if we take the time to consider and explore them. I realise this to be especially true when these objects are connected to much cared for people.
I went home this weekend, to the funeral and to be with my family. I felt drawn to photograph my grandad's belongings because his presence was in all of them. He had kept these bits and pieces: screws, bolts, vices, lamps; cars, gears, goggles, bikes; treacle tins, bottles, toys, saws, lawnmowers. He'd spent time with and held these objects, even if for just a moment. He had given them a place. He had a wild English garden with flowers and vegetables, and continued to climb the ladder to collect apples from the trees at 83. He creatively recycled teapots and old wood into bird houses, an old bath into a pond where there are now living creatures that my little cousins get excited to explore. He believed that if someone in the world could fix something or do something then there was no reason why he couldn't. All this only touches on everything he was. He died doing something he loved to do, and equipped us with so many happy memories before he went.
I went home this weekend, to the funeral and to be with my family. I felt drawn to photograph my grandad's belongings because his presence was in all of them. He had kept these bits and pieces: screws, bolts, vices, lamps; cars, gears, goggles, bikes; treacle tins, bottles, toys, saws, lawnmowers. He'd spent time with and held these objects, even if for just a moment. He had given them a place. He had a wild English garden with flowers and vegetables, and continued to climb the ladder to collect apples from the trees at 83. He creatively recycled teapots and old wood into bird houses, an old bath into a pond where there are now living creatures that my little cousins get excited to explore. He believed that if someone in the world could fix something or do something then there was no reason why he couldn't. All this only touches on everything he was. He died doing something he loved to do, and equipped us with so many happy memories before he went.
Lovely x
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