After a two-week break from writing on this blog here I am again. Quite a few things have happened, some good some others bad. Each one of them adding a piece of the puzzle.
First of all my granddad died. I had just come back home after an aperitif in Torino with two amazing workmates and friends of mine, had spent a few hours together after staying late at work, talking and laughing and telling stupid jokes. I was so happy, and came back home with a great smile. Then a phone call late at night. My granddad was in hospital, he would not survive more than a few hours.
You find yourself reverting to what you know. It’s almost like a protection of some kind. You go back into yourself. You don’t really know quite what you’re doing. I didn’t really analyze it. I felt driven to do it.
I’m stealing Annie Leibovitz’s words here, but that’s exactly how I felt. I wish I had my camera with me, and most of all I wished I had a filter between me and the suffering I was witnessing. I felt impotent, I felt the only thing I could do was to take pictures. And I could not. I had wished I were Annie Leibovitz.
Talking with my mother a few days after the burial, I told her that my grandfather’s dead had not changed our lives that much after all. We have hardly ever had any relationships with my father’s side of the family in the course of the years. Even some sour comments have been made to my parents and I during the burial. Having said so, death – anyone’s death – leaves you with unanswered questions and a feeling of loss and sadness. Nothing have changed, but nothing will ever be the same again either.
I feel sorry and sad and enraged, for the harsh words, the missed opportunities, the buried affection, the pride and the falsities. Processing it all needs time, and I go back to photography, my filter and refuge, my means to understand and tell the world around myself: being a photographer is also all this for me.
I’m starting again from this blog, even if it’s only in words right now.