This marks my first post to this blog. The name is in honor of my recently deceased sweetheart of a beast who I was lucky enough to have had in my life for 12 years. At 6 months old, "The Nose" was diagnosed with hip dysplasia and from what seemed a hell of a lot like day one, she and I were always in search of some sort of anodyne.
19th Century photography is littered with images of parents holding or sitting next to their deceased children. I am drawn to these images- I think mostly because I can't help but wonder how a person ever washes off the memory of holding, or sitting next to your dead child while a photographer takes your picture. For me, this lingering history is akin to how Germans must feel when they pass through areas where the Berlin wall used to be.
I buried Annabelle in my parents' backyard on April 5, 2005- a month ago. It is impossible to believe and nearly unbearable to think that there may come a time when I feel like I can have the film processed, and look at the pictures I took of her on that day.
Death, and Photography. Death and how we use photography to deal with death. Most likely, that is what this blog will be about. At least that's what it needs to be about today.