thinking of other places
When I saw Stuart O’Sullivan’s personal work a few weeks ago, I felt physically winded with wishing I was in the warmth of South Africa. My husband’s maternal grandmother had just died there, and I was really feeling the distance. The second picture in his series could have been taken in her house, in the room where my husband’s uncle smoked while we visited. Only I was too busy being all North American about cigarette smoke around my baby to appreciate it. It’s only been two years since then, but the uncle has died, the house was sold, and now Granny has died too, not quite 92.
My next thought was to wonder if my husband might know O’Sullivan, since they were both born in Johannesburg around the same time. (No, he doesn’t.)
And my third thought was that I have pictures just like that. So I went through all my South African photos to find them, and, um… Well, I don’t really have any. Certainly, I have photos that share the same subject matter: flowers in front of walls with razor wire or other sharp things to keep people out, burglar bars from the inside, men in blue suits working, people swimming in pools by well-manicured gardens, the amazing brightness of indoor rooms… but they kind of suck, to put it bluntly. I guess that’s why he’s published a book and had exhibitions and I haven’t.
On the plus side, looking back at those pictures made me see that I have actually improved since then. And that’s encouraging.
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Last week, my copy of The Day-to-Day Life of Albert Hastings arrived, which I mentioned a while back. I love it. If you have any interest in documentary portraiture at all, get it. It was only $17 Cdn on Amazon, which seems incredible for a photo book (although I will say that the reproduction of the images just wasn’t as good as more expensive photo books). Albert’s handwriting tell as much of a story through the book as his captions and the photos themselves.
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I also discovered yesterday that Phil Toledano’s father died recently, at the age of 99. I found Days with my Father back in January I think, and I think it’s wonderful. My deepest sympathies to the family.
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I’ll leave you with one more picture of Granny Joyce. 
April 2nd, 2009 at 8:40 am
I love the photos of Gramma — god, old people have such detail and life in their skin, huh. She looks beautiful, I think.
April 2nd, 2009 at 9:51 am
She looks like she was lovely. And poignantly enough, my grandma has a shirt just like that, which made me feel a pang.
April 3rd, 2009 at 8:01 am
Oh Kate, you are so hard on your photos. I’m sure those ones you said “sucked” the rest of us would find just lovely. The portrait of Granny Joyce is a touching tribute — I love character photos like that.
April 3rd, 2009 at 11:16 am
Dani, I probably shouldn’t have used the word sucked, although I’m not sure you would find them just lovely – that was kind of my point. Probably what I should have said is that where O’Sullivan’s pictures elicited an emotional response, most of the photos I made of the same subject matter did not. Or rather, they only create that response in me, because of what I was experiencing when I made them, not because of what I put in the photo. I think that’s what technique is all about, and I’m still learning all of that. I wasn’t meaning to come down hard on myself or my photos; I really was encouraged to see a change in the photos. I’m a huge proponent of self-forgiveness and letting yourself make mistakes, because otherwise you’ll be too scared to grow.
April 4th, 2009 at 11:44 am
Your photos of Joyce are such a treasure… there are very few photos of my Nanny because she refused to allow cameras anywhere near her after she turned sixty or so.
I know losing her has been very hard on your family, and please know that my sympathies are with you.
April 5th, 2009 at 6:26 pm
I love those pictures of your Granny – the crinkled happy face is just lovely.
April 5th, 2009 at 11:23 pm
Really interesting and nice pictures
April 6th, 2009 at 7:36 am
Kate, you’ve managed to capture those little touches of femininity that older women pull off so flawlessly. The way the lace of her undergarments just peeks from under her shirt, the bright blue earings against her soft white hair, the delicate silver bracelet that sits above her watch, the way she eloquently places her hand under her chin. All understated, but together paints a picture of a lady in the truest form.