And here it is.
Your kitchen. The very one I can’t seem to detach myself from like an anchor to what could and should have been. An idea and design birthed to life by myself now proceeding full steam ahead.
I started taking many a photo long before all hopes had been crushed, wanting to capture and create a before and after photography book of sorts. Valuable most likely only to myself but nonetheless a way to document the process and changes to a home that held such significance to my being.
A novel book for my enjoyment, to peruse through on a cold winters night and smile upon fond memories; a pleasant reminder of what I can conceive. To present to friends and family like a portfolio, the before and afters making their mouths form a surprised ‘o’ while gasps of ooh’s and ah’s escape their parted lips. Gazing through in splendor and admiration over the improvements and singing praises for what I achieved for you.
But most importantly telling me how very proud you would have been to have called this home.
That dream seems so far downstream now and completely irretrievable. Yet I still continue to photograph fruitfully, a habit I can’t or don’t want to break. Like a bird I can’t bear to set free but knowing it’s inevitable freedom approaches. That I will be forced to let it go so my primal instincts kick in and the need to capture as many lifeless images as possible is all I can manage.
The images acting like a consolation prize, something to hold onto and something to live vicariously through. Because deep down I know that every time I step foot in your home it may very well be my last one.