There are junctures in ones life you stop, reflect, and wonder. How did I get here and where has the time gone and what am I going to do with all the crap I’ve collected over the years? I’ve embarked on this project entering my 60th year thinking about the large collection of photographs I am fortunate to have in my possession and what is going to happen to them when I am gone. I have no family that will want them. My grandfather, grandmother and some uncles took up photography at the turn into the 20th century with all the enthusiasm and fervor we are seeing now with digital. I have photographs of the maternal side of my family spanning back to my great great great grandmother, her children, and those that followed in Biblical proportion. Formal studio portraits to snapshots of days at the beach in the new risque Janzen bathing suits showing ample amount of leg. My Great Aunt Emma would cart out boxes of mixed lots of pictures and we would spend hours going through who what where and when. Thus my interest in photography grew from deep affection of these frozen moments of time and people I never met but to whom I am bound by genetics into something I am trying to make my own. Places I never went. Places I have, but changed beyond photographic recognition. Some of these jottings sent out into the ether will be about what I call ‘Things That Will Go Away’. Photographs that will eventually become anonymous people behind old glass, and photographs of mine of the detritus of life that gets dropped in a box as you pass by a bureau. A watch that needs repair. A pieces of necklace. What we think we will get to someday but somehow never do. Our passing by.
I continue with in this ‘relative’ obsession with photography without the intention of promoting my work and exhibition but as beautiful or tragic documentation. Making art is my search for grace in life. Art is survival.
This photograph is my Grandfather Merritt O. White with his comrades of the 90th Aero Squad stationed primarily in Cazaux France during WW1.