The missing piece

Four month ago I started a personal project. The original idea was to leverage vintage family photographs as a point of departure for self exploration. I had no idea how much this project will stretch beyond my comfort zone, but hey, that's how we learn, don't we?

This is the first project shot almost in its entirety with a Holga lens, which I love, but it does work differently than what I am used to. Then there are the self portraits, which I always avoided, but I thought necessary for this project. I start melding images together, creating pieces of the narrative. I look at the images, I do love them, but something is still missing. How can I visually convey that each one of us is made of multiple pieces, and sometimes, it is the missing piece that defines us more than the existing one? 

Thinking about it for days, without any breakthrough, and then, out of nowhere (while driving at night) the idea of a physical puzzle is born. After almost 10 hours of trial and error - the first Images appear. YESSSSS!!  

What remains, what shall we leave behind

What is left, what shall we leave behind. A subject that comes more and more to the forefront of my thoughts. No idea what I want to do with it. For now, just aware it's there and it is important.

On impulse, when I heard of someone who scans photographs at a good quality, I had a bunch of  old family photos scanned. My grandmother, the one I shared a room with until I was 10 years old, suddenly comes to life. Here she is with her younger sister, Fanny, which I have a very faint memory of. She did not live in the same city. I remember her coming to visit once. I remember a table full of small presents for me. She never married, I was probably her granddaughter as well.

Another photo of my grandmother, Liza, here as a young woman. I wish I knew her then. Talk to her and know her as a person. Not just as the comforting, stable presence in my life I knew as a child.

There is this famous question, ' if you could meet anyone, who would you want to meet'. Well, for the first time, I know the answer. I wish I could meet my grandmother when she goes out of the photographer studio that day. Sit with her in a cafe, ask her who is she, where is she going, how is her life. Introduce myself, as her only future granddaughter who would love her so much.

The power of photography. To let me know those parts of me I never knew existed. To ask questions. To know answers