My Sweet Elora
1. Never Die my Love
2. Untill the last tear drop falls
What Once Was
At Arm’s Length
INSTALLATION VIEWS
ABOUT
CV
©2024
In the late autumn of 1970, my grandfather disappeared without a trace. No one knew why he left, or where to. Three months passed before he returned. He offered no explanation for his absence.
53 years later, the repercussions revealed themselves.
My father had an affair , revealing the long hidden fractures hiding within our family history
“Where did it all go wrong?’’ I asked myself. In need of answers, I dove into the family archives. Within them, I found a lead that shone a light upon my grandfather’s secrets.
My search led me to Elora, Canada – a small, quiet village 115 kilometres outside of the city of Toronto. There, my grandfather had an affair with an unknown young lady while my grandmother awaited his return.
This is where it all began.Seeing my reflection in the mistakes of both my father and grandfather, I decided not to let history repeat itself again. Prompting to travel to Elora three times in the span of a year.
My Sweet Elora is a collection of photographs / moving images of both the past and present Elora. I dissect the complicated nature of family dynamics. While also using it as an ongoing formulation of personal identity and self perception within the context of a family’s history.
This study serves as a exploration of the trauma within my family and behavioural patterns, tracing the fault lines outward.
My Sweet Elora is a conversation between archival material and contemporary photography.
A conversation between what is and what was.
it’s been some time since we last talked to each other.
I’m turning 23 in a few weeks. Life has been passing by and it’s not looking like it’s going to slow down anytime soon.
My health is good. I am no longer considered asthmatic.
I stopped smoking and no longer take medication. I have been getting good grades like I promised I would. Life has been hard, but fair to me.
My memory doesn’t serve me well when it comes to you.
It’s foggy, fragmented at best. Your image is a collection of tales and sketches, told and shaped by others. In return shaping you: A man of great ambition and class. A man who enjoyed the finer things in life. Wine. French chansons. Spanish guitars. A man that always got what he wanted.
Someone who was revered.
And I did the same. For as long as I can remember I have looked up to you. I wanted to be like you so bad when I was younger. I remember seeing you on stage ; dancing, singing. Just to go home and stand in the middle of the room with my eyes closed and envision myself doing the exact same thing.
I wanted to be you.
I see now that it’s much more complicated.
With all due respect, I no longer aspire, nor want to be like you. It’s undeniable; I am you;We share the same blood,
the same name.
I bare no grudges towards you dear grandpa. But the seed you planted has grown. And it became mine to water and care for.
The past should have never been my weight to carry.
So tell me why my schoulders are aching.
I think back of the day it all went wrong and how cold it was.
I think of you. Mom. Dad. Max.
I think about how I cried that night. Just like when I was young. Shaking and shivering underneath my bed sheets. Sweating and heaving. I think about home and how far away it all seems.
The unbearable distance.
Standing, here, where you once stood, i see my reflection in all your mistakes and misteps: the pull of something forbidden, the thrill of the chase, and the subsequent guilt. This is not mine.
I rebuke these shackles.
Tomorrow morning i will bury the hatchet.
I will lay you to rest.
I finally understand now.
How it all came to be.
How it all came crashing down.
I have seen her grandpa.
Just like you did.
13-04-2024
23:48
Smith St 211
Elora
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