End of Memories: Should I Smile?
The intimate connection between photography and death is inherent. Much has been written on the subject. I’ve read some. I get the idea: depending on how long it takes my photographs to reach the garbage can, they will most likely outlive me. Since 1964, through the best of times and the not-so-great, photography has been a constant companion. I’ve employed photography to illustrate my life journey, and consequently, as a lens to contemplate the illusive meaning of it all. Since the arrival of my seventieth birthday, the imminence of death has become a preoccupation. Not death in the macabre sense, but death as a reminder to live. I have vivid impressions of what my younger self looked like because my parents memorialized significant milestones with photographs. When I began making pictures the tempo of documentation increased. Consequently, I have a relatively comprehensive visual record of my journey through the world since 1953. Appreciating that I have no control over where and how my journey will end, this portfolio presents idealized scenarios. Ironically, staging death suggests maintaining control - an illusion, of course.
