2013-02-09 // 12:24:11
g.
bravo.

i can imagine it's not easy, and i can feel it's tempting to take photos of these rooms as well.
I cannot tell what it would lead to, but i can say looking at them makes me rest, and think already.
so yes, there is a speaking silence, which make me curious of the ongoing.


and it just reminds me, when i cleared my mothers flat, the flat i grew up in, the flat she has been living her whole life, something i didn't liked to do, i at one point went there, to the empty flat, with my equipment and took some hours for me, and photos.
I have never scanned them since. I look at them once in a while, but i cannot touch them (with touching i mean doing the scans and re-correcting the colours, and looking at one photo for a long time). strong photos, but also too strong for me as that I would know how to deal, what to do with them for now.
It's a different situation, but a similar ambivalence I guess.

It's amazing how filled empty rooms can be.

^ I always thought its easier when you know the people, or what happens inside the rooms you take a shot of, but I realized that for me its the complete opposite. And not only for deontological reasons, but also out of respect. You dont show someone's weaknesses or bad times if you appreciate that someone, or if he's your friend, or just out of simple respect, even if he agrees. You fall very fast in that gloomy voyeurism wich tends to show the most shockable-wow-xtreme side of things, and I try to get away from that. But the line is thin. and I know what you mean with these untouched photos, too much attachment, too much weight, too much reflections... of us actually, not only the loved ones who disappeared..