When I started this project, I didn’t know where I was headed with all that I sought. All I knew was this would be a long, nerve-wracking task. The photographs, text, everything will be my first of a kind. I come from a family that is not religious in readings and or visual art, so my findings, struggles, and path are all defined by my exploration.
My father was alive when I undertook this project for my fellowship. And the idea of giving my doubts and disconnection a shape of a long-term photo project came from my years of long conversations and arguments with my father. So, this project became more like a personal journey.
Even if we are unable to speak, we can listen and register most of what is said or spoken. Our senses are very strong and even in the time of our worse illness, our brain does register everything in their consciousness. My father during his last days was unable to speak and had no energy to even listen. But we kept the conversations going; me with very few words and him with silence. I kept him updated about my project and struggles with it. The most he did was nod in acknowledgment, and even that was enough for me. His presence was enough for me to keep going.
Back in the days when I selected this lost identity as my project, I was skeptical because it was not just my journey, but it was OUR journey; my father's and mine. Our conversations, his stories, my doubts, and our hybrid living which has led to this. So how come I can do this all myself? With his rapidly deteriorating health, I was unsure of this path but his presence was enough to keep me going, keeping him updated, knowing that he knows and is aware of my progress- it kept me somewhat sane. But 3 months into the project, as the new year dawned, I lost him. The foundation of this project was gone.
