Kisses
(But if the shoe was on the other foot surely she’d be doing everything in her power to be with you for every second?)
2025
Digitally printed silk
Shown as part of a solo show ‘Hers & His’ at MEZZANINE in South Bermondsey
We flick through a photo album my aunt made for their 60th wedding anniversary. A snapfish affair. Where the website automatically crops your images to best fit their aesthetic. Time slows as we enjoy the nostalgia bouncing off the 200gsm. I take photos of the photos.
Two recent images of my Grandparents with their anniversary bouquet. The second is a classic. One to be framed and put on a sideboard around the house, should the neighbours pop in. The first details my Grandma, leaning in for a big kiss on the lips. Aiming her pout at my Grandad. He pulls a soft grimace at this request. Was it done in a ‘I’m a Yorkshireman reared in a men were men era,’ or was it jokey and playful? My Auntie clearly thinks so, sending it off to snapfish. The brief moment caught forever by the lens.
I hover my iPhone over the page.
“Ooh don’t photograph that one.” Dad says softly, in the tone he only brings out when he’s truly disappointed in me or hears something awful on Radio 4. A note more northern than usual, as we are past the Birmingham border.
“Why?” I ask lightheartedly but shocked.
“I just think it’s sad.”
“Why!” I persist with a giggle, whilst really knowing why.
“Oh, go on then.”
My thumb clicks the white circle and the image becomes mine.
That one interaction with my dad over that one particular photograph summed up all the heartache, confusion and difficult conversations we have been having as a family unit since 7th November 2024.
Well, even longer before then.
In those few seconds my dad answered all the questions I have been asking him, my Auntie, my mum, my sister, my cousins, my Grandad, my friends, the ceiling of my bedroom morning and night.
I wish I could ask my Grandma.
