This is wonderfully told: your desperation to capture him as you know him, not wearing the mask that most wear in front of the lens; obviously worried about him, but trying to skate over it… – every word demonstrating a kind of love: the love that emerges in your beautiful images.
I too know that fear of losing someone close. My friend, already shy, wouldn’t let people see them; and I have no photographs after their first day on chemo. They kept telling everyone they would be fine; presumably knowing they were dying (but who knows what medics tell their patients?).
I so hope John recovers. I really do. Cancer is such a bastard.
This is wonderfully told: your desperation to capture him as you know him, not wearing the mask that most wear in front of the lens; obviously worried about him, but trying to skate over it… – every word demonstrating a kind of love: the love that emerges in your beautiful images.
I too know that fear of losing someone close. My friend, already shy, wouldn’t let people see them; and I have no photographs after their first day on chemo. They kept telling everyone they would be fine; presumably knowing they were dying (but who knows what medics tell their patients?).
I so hope John recovers. I really do. Cancer is such a bastard.
Thankfully he discovered last week that he’s in remission but his mobility is v poor.
That’s good news. But not being able to move under your own steam is hell. I hope life continues to improve for him (however slowly).
This is excellent. All the photographs are brilliant, and the text (unsurprisingly) is intimate, kind, detailed and generous. Thanks Jon.
Thank you so much Jonathan. That means an enormous lot coming from you. The Crow is very inspiring.