My goal of a blog of week was short-lived, but not because of anything other than the simple fact that this funny thing called life keeps happening.
Today, however, I want to honor my grandfather. Sure, he was a bit of a cranky man, but he was also the nucleus of my familial leanings toward photography. He was a WWII war veteran, but his time wasn’t spent fighting. Rather, it was spent documenting his surroundings (Burma and India) with his Graflex, and processing his film in an army tent. That’s pretty badass, if you ask me.
It wasn’t until my 30s that I developed a close relationship with my grandfather, and the focus was always on film, photography, and printing and processing. When I decided to go to school for photography, his interest piqued. Photography became the common ground we could stand upon and the place where the sordid waters of our past became placid. Talking film lit a spark in his eye that I had never seen. It brought him back to a time where he could capture things from a perspective that was purely his own. As it turned out, my number one critic became my head cheerleader. In some funny way, I was living out his dream. Who knew? Not me, that’s for sure.
In the last couple of years, in the shadow of my beloved grandmother’s passing, my grandfather’s passion for film faded and his crankiness began to resurface. Still, I am grateful for the time I had to talk with him and reminisce about a love we both shared. I am grateful that my heart was open enough to allow that in, because truth be told, that is where the healing and letting go began.
It’s time to chase the dream again and honor a man who’s enthusiasm for photography began in an old, dusty army tent. Sweet travels, Saba Bob, may you rest with your lady love.
Love and shutter clicks,