In 2013, when my mother was dying, I did something I had never done before. I started photographing my parents. I yearned to imprint their essence, their gestures, a gaze, into my very being and to preserve something tangible. I was fearful that my memories of them would fade to mere shadows after they were gone. When my mother died, I continued to photograph my father during my visits to New Mexico, my childhood home, and in Atlanta when he visited me.  I captured the most meaningful portraits of my father in New Mexico. The colors of the dessert, the mountains, the smell of the earth, the flavors of the southwest, and the magnificent light, are all intertwined with my feelings for my father.  To me they are inseparable. 

In 2013, when my mother was dying, I did something I had never done before. I started photographing my parents. I yearned to imprint their essence, their gestures, a gaze, into my very being and to preserve something tangible. I was fearful that my memories of them would fade to mere shadows after they were gone. When my mother died, I continued to photograph my father during my visits to New Mexico, my childhood home, and in Atlanta when he visited me.  I captured the most meaningful portraits of my father in New Mexico. The colors of the dessert, the mountains, the smell of the earth, the flavors of the southwest, and the magnificent light, are all intertwined with my feelings for my father.  To me they are inseparable. 

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 In 2013, when my mother was dying, I did something I had never done before. I started photographing my parents. I yearned to imprint their essence, their gestures, a gaze, into my very being and to preserve something tangible. I was fearful that my memories of them would fade to mere shadows after they were gone. When my mother died, I continued to photograph my father during my visits to New Mexico, my childhood home, and in Atlanta when he visited me.  I captured the most meaningful portraits of my father in New Mexico. The colors of the dessert, the mountains, the smell of the earth, the flavors of the southwest, and the magnificent light, are all intertwined with my feelings for my father.  To me they are inseparable. 
Dad-4.jpg
Dad-5.jpg
Dad-8.jpg
Dad-3.jpg
Dad-11.jpg
Dad-2.jpg
Dad-6.jpg
Dad-9.jpg
Dad-16.jpg
Dad-18.jpg
Dad-13.jpg
Dad-8.jpg
Dad-14.jpg
Dad-6.jpg
   
  
 
  
    
  
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In 2013, when my mother was dying, I did something I had never done before. I started photographing my parents. I yearned to imprint their essence, their gestures, a gaze, into my very being and to preserve something tangible. I was fearful that my memories of them would fade to mere shadows after they were gone. When my mother died, I continued to photograph my father during my visits to New Mexico, my childhood home, and in Atlanta when he visited me.  I captured the most meaningful portraits of my father in New Mexico. The colors of the dessert, the mountains, the smell of the earth, the flavors of the southwest, and the magnificent light, are all intertwined with my feelings for my father.  To me they are inseparable. 

 

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