Kay
Robson
The last of a generation has passed
away and the old black and white photos collected together
unceremoniously in a bag, together with newspaper clippings and the
occasional birthday card, they're all that remains. We scatter the
images across the floor and look at the faces staring back at us,
some we know, some we recognise, and others that have slipped away,
lost from memory. We keep them, the lost ones. We know they are our
kin, we know that one day it will be our turn to be an unknown face
with a lost name, all memories gone; Just a fractured image staring
back from the past, a lost memory.
Butterflies
are regarded by some as the spirits of lost loved ones, using the
butterfly as a symbol of universal loss I have reconstructed a
collection of family photos. From cherished and framed to faded and
removed.
07881380027
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