New Roll / Thoughts On My Grandfather's Death (Patreon)

Hi!

More Fuji 400 on the Nikon N60.

Here's the zipped folder with the latest roll, and the updated Flickr gallery.

Shockingly, this piece isn't very happy; it's just been on my mind a lot. Feel free to skip it.

I've never written about this much, but my grandfather passed away almost exactly a year ago at the age of 90. He was my favorite person in the entire world as a child.

He took care of me when I was an infant, before my mother quit her career. He played with me and my brother in a way no one else bothered to. He built me so many things for my model railroad. He seemed to accept a childish me as a child, which was unlike the other adults around me, and he never really sweated academics anywhere near the degree my mother did.

He taught me a lot about photography (he was a photographer in the Korean War and briefly ran a portrait studio afterwards). He's why I knew about Paramount lighting and the rule of thirds long before I knew those concepts by name. He encouraged me to keep shooting, and not just for profit, but because I clearly loved it.

I had not spoken to him for years before he died, because my mother forbid me from talking to him and telling him I had transitioned, saying "you'll kill him". When he died, she requested I not attend the funeral, because of who I am. I should have disobeyed her both times, but I did not because I am afraid of her, and I regret it.

He never saw my books. I don't even know what my mother told him about me—she still spoke frequently with him—and if he even knew I was still taking photos. I wonder frequently what he would think of my work now. I bet the lookbook would have been up his alley, but the street photography wouldn't be. He was a war and portrait photographer—a clearly defined and dramatic subject was his favorite.

I have no idea if he would have accepted me for who I am—he, like the rest of my family, was fairly conservative and extremely Orthodox Christian—but part of me thinks we could have found common ground over the photographs.

I sometimes loathe having grown into an atheist, because I desperately wish I had the comfort of believing in heaven. I wish he'd somehow be able to see, right now, all the work he helped inspire. I wish I had showed him when he was here, damn the consequences.

Instead, I have to take solace in knowing photography—and the things he taught me—have helped keep me alive; regardless of what he'd have thought of my books, my photos, or my transition, I think he'd be happy for that.

After I send this post, I will walk outside with a camera. I don't know how to honor him better than that.

Vicki