Portraits of my grandmother
Last night I shared a post on my Facebook page (here) and Instagram (here), about the Photograph-Not-Taken. A collection of essays by photographers on photographs they didn’t make, for whatever reason. I got a lot of interesting responses, but one that spoke to me a lot was “a picture of me and my Mum on her deathbed”.
It made me go digging in my archives, to find a collection of photos I thought I had taken. I looked at them again this morning.
They were a set of photos taken a few months after I got a brand new SLR camera, that opened realms of selective depth of field and focus hitherto only dreamed of. My one-day-husband-to-be had given me a rudimentary lesson on the exposure triangle, in one of our first in-depth conversations. (Now I think about it, that’s kinda cool. Two things that ended up very much a part of my future, the photography one very un-dreamed of at that point!).
So when my Nana came to visit, of course I took photos of her.
And I looked at those again this morning, and I got a little choked up.
