Absence

The project I show here is the most personal work I have ever done, an essay about my grandmother's death in 2010. I took pictures of her for about 10 years, since I started learning photography.

My project is based in the last stage, in the farewell, the physical absence, which is not supposed to be specially significant because the memories always stay, however, that doesn't mean the moment of truly realizing of that fact isn't hard at all.

It's a small project of 15 photographs, inspired in the before and the after. When she was there, colour pictures, and after she died, the same places in black and white, empty places without furniture, without her.

The Absence (2010)

After sharing lots of years with my grandmother, she left a little time ago. I keep memories, I remember the feeling of her hand, her scent, her glace, her smile, her appeal for wandering along the streets, the possesion of her home keys, the happiness of visits, her bliss when being with her children and grandchildren, I remember how caring she was always, her cooking (such a good cook she was), the smell of coffee, the way she cared for her plants, her singing, the awakeinings in her home (always early, she took her time to get ready, she was always a little vain)... The memories.... this what is left when someone leaves.

Since I was a little girl, my grandmother was with my family, she helped us, supported us and we developed a strong bond along the years. Using my camera, I took pictures of her life, her story, our story. I started learning photography in 2000, and, since then, from the very first film, I loved taking pictures of her, she always enjoyed being my model, and to me the chance of taking those pictures was a reason for pride.

I took pictures of her hobbies, her happiness, her companies, her loneliness, I took photographs of her intimacy, she even let me take pictures of her during last months of life, when she was totally dependant of others, she couldn't eat, wash or walk on her own... she loved cooking so much.... we all loved her meals. At some point, she could do nothing else, just bear the pain, the anxiety, she could hardly breathe, and her Parkinson got worse. She spent her days sitting on her wheelchair, she just let the time pass. I never thought she would ever allow me take photos of her while she was ill, in her truly old age, she had always been a pretty elegant proud and confident woman. It was already very hard for her to accept she needed a walking stick some years before, figure out how it was to feel old. During a wile, she wouldn't let me take pictures her, she felt ugly.... she didn't understand why I would like to take her pictures, then, one day, she realized it was important for me to do it, it was my way of saying goodbye.

She got much worse after the death of my grandfather, she left us only nine months later.

When I started taking photos of her empty house, I did really notice her absence; where she once was, she isn't anymore in the flesh. And it is in that place where memories don't let anyone forget, and the power of the images bring her smile to life, her warm welcome hold and her powerful "see you tomorrow" hold.

How can death be represented? Why taking photos of her home? It was what she cared for to the end of her days, once her eight children had left, her home was her life, her plants, the corners where her memories stayed, those memories of a crowded house.... she always kept the rooms just as they were when the children left. My mother, the youngest of all, was always there for her, they held such a honest relation, a relation of mutual respect and loyalty. I admired that relation since I was a child, and the feeling was always with me.

A few days after her death, my mother and I went to her house, once inside, we stood there for a long while in silence, there were no words. I remember that when I entered the house for the first time, everything kept her scent, her favourite places in the house kept her essence. With the last photographs I closed one important part of my life, some people write, other pray, some of us take pictures.

One death always implies a long mourning, however, I always thought that photography was a wonderful way of getting closer to her, of seeing her transformation due to time and of conveying those of her qualities that will stay alive forever.