AfterLife
Between Presence and Absence. Between Fragility and Decay.
In the history of arts and cultures, artists working within the tradition of memento mori, from the Latin “Remember to die,” introduced skulls, wilting flowers and hourglasses to express decay of something that once had vitality or grandeur—a rich man’s table, a beautiful face. The shock was the contrast: This too will end.
As a photographer, I experience a form of memento mori when I encounter silent factories and time-worn shops. I imagine a time decades ago when the factory floor wasn’t just alive, but was buzzing with the energy of workers, machines and generations of families who made their lives in nearby communities. I see how the things we build have lifespans and will, eventually, reach the end of their time. In those moments, it’s hard not to think about the transience of my own journey and the opportunity to embrace what’s important.
I wonder, who lived and worked here? How did their lives play out? What did open spaces look like before factories and towns were built? Can nature, in its own good time, heal the scars of industry and restore the land?
For me, the mystery of each image in AfterLife is meant to remain. I invite viewers to ask themselves which stories they see woven into the fabric of each photograph, concealed within the space between presence and absence, between fragility and decay.
Photographer and filmmaker Robert Frank notes, “Things move on, time passes, people go away, and sometimes they don't come back. Only the pictures remain."
