DOUBLE PORTRAIT
DOUBLE PORTRAIT
DOUBLE PORTRAIT
She was dying. The doctor entered the room, carefully lifted the blanket and looked at her feet. Covered them back. They were turning blue. Doctor said, it had started. I had no idea that death begins from our feet.
She was dying. The doctor entered the room, carefully lifted the blanket and looked at her feet. Covered them back. They were turning blue. Doctor said, it had started. I had no idea that death begins from our feet.
She was dying. The doctor entered the room, carefully lifted the blanket and looked at her feet. Covered them back. They were turning blue. Doctor said, it had started. I had no idea that death begins from our feet.
I was sleepless. I laid on the hospital couch, by her bed. She was still alive but we knew that she was going to be dead in a couple of hours. Time never felt that weird. I fell asleep. I think I dreamt about her death. I woke up in panic. Time felt even more weird. She was still alive.
I was sleepless. I laid on the hospital couch, by her bed. She was still alive but we knew that she was going to be dead in a couple of hours. Time never felt that weird. I fell asleep. I think I dreamt about her death. I woke up in panic. Time felt even more weird. She was still alive.
I was sleepless. I laid on the hospital couch, by her bed. She was still alive but we knew that she was going to be dead in a couple of hours. Time never felt that weird. I fell asleep. I think I dreamt about her death. I woke up in panic. Time felt even more weird. She was still alive.
The crescendo of the oxygen detector's signal became our music of desperation while my mother was holding and kissing my grandmother's feet for the very last time, as if she was saying goodbye to the slowly dying parts of her mother's body.
The crescendo of the oxygen detector's signal became our music of desperation while my mother was holding and kissing my grandmother's feet for the very last time, as if she was saying goodbye to the slowly dying parts of her mother's body.
The crescendo of the oxygen detector's signal became our music of desperation while my mother was holding and kissing my grandmother's feet for the very last time, as if she was saying goodbye to the slowly dying parts of her mother's body.
Everybody started shouting, as if we didn't know this was going to happen. I was probably silent. I don't remember what I was doing.
Everybody started shouting, as if we didn't know this was going to happen. I was probably silent. I don't remember what I was doing.
Everybody started shouting, as if we didn't know this was going to happen. I was probably silent. I don't remember what I was doing.
I only remember my mother.
I only remember my mother.
I only remember my mother.
Was it even possible? Which one was more impossible?
Was it even possible? Which one was more impossible?
Was it even possible? Which one was more impossible?
Could my mother not die?
Could my mother not die?
Could my mother not die?
Could photography show the wound?
Could photography show the wound?
Could photography show the wound?
Could you mourn for someone who is still alive?
Could you mourn for someone who is still alive?
Could you mourn for someone who is still alive?
I hold her, she carries me.
I hold her, she carries me.
I hold her, she carries me.
How does a person carry the body, the posture? It is my mother who carries my body in this photograph..
How does a person carry the body, the posture? It is my mother who carries my body in this photograph..
How does a person carry the body, the posture? It is my mother who carries my body in this photograph..
How does one carry the body in a photograph through holding and being held by another body —the maternal body?
How does one carry the body in a photograph through holding and being held by another body —the maternal body?
How does one carry the body in a photograph through holding and being held by another body —the maternal body?
I handle her, she handles me. We understand the world only after handling it. This is a process of handling; handling a future loss.
I handle her, she handles me. We understand the world only after handling it. This is a process of handling; handling a future loss.
I handle her, she handles me. We understand the world only after handling it. This is a process of handling; handling a future loss.
The desire for the mother, can it be fulfilled?
The desire for the mother, can it be fulfilled?
The desire for the mother, can it be fulfilled?