Family

I have spent much time considering the challenge of the photograph as a work of art, I have pondered the question of whether photographs can represent an objective reality, and debated with myself the idea that there can or cannot be truth in a photograph.  These are worthy themes and ones that should be a part of an art undergraduates thought process, however, there is a danger that I either forget or even worse dismiss the value of a photograph as a record.  I recall two comments made in the many history books that I have read over the past few years (I paraphrase):

• No matter the worth of all the religious paintings of the last 2000 years, a single photograph of Jesus Christ would have a greater value
• In the 20th century, for the first time people (other than the obscenely wealthy) were able to see what their great grandparents looked like when they were young.

Photography has many values and many failings, however, it's ability to enable us to visualize the past almost as if we were present is a powerful and very rewarding quality.  Of course, these photographs might be carefully edited, chosen to present the best of those departed, but they are still a factual representation of how someone once looked who is no more.  

Recently I asked my mother to bring some of our family photographs to Munich and leave them with me.  These photographs lived in boxes and plastic bags, jumbled together in a chaos of fading tattered bits of paper.  They were without context and risked losing any meaning as the people who once remembered their faces also ceased to be with us.  

My father died 4 years ago, only 67 and the victim of a botched operation to remove a tumor.  With him was gone not only a man I loved very much, but a large part of the history of me.  Whilst we talked about many things during his time, physics, history, art, and well pretty much anything, we rarely talked about the past and his family.  I really have little knowledge of where I come from, I know my great grandparents were from coal mining families, but little else.  I am not into ancestor tracing or generating vast family trees, but I am curious and also want to ensure that my brother's sons, Joe and Ben, aged 10 and 9 will grow up with some knowledge of where they come from and who they are.

So, I have spent the last couple of weeks scanning old photographs and then arranging them into a book.  My recent development of "Fest" reminded me that I owed it to myself and my family to create another book of far greater significance.  The scanning process was laborious, I scanned over 200 prints on my flat bed Epson V700.  However, it was rewarding, tiny contact prints made from 120 roll film suddenly revealed hidden detail and a little contrast adjustment and removal of the yellowing of age brought these photographs to life.  Sadly the negatives are long gone.  The photographs were often quite battered, I chose not to correct any tears or age spots, these are part of the patina of age that adds character.  My goal was to clarify not to alter. The photos spanned 70 years from the 1890's to the 1960's.  It felt odd and almost humbling to be handling such old documents and wondering who before me had placed them on a shelf or proudly pasted them into a book.

A pile of old photos was slowly becoming a story.  I started to sort them into some kind of rough order, chronicling my great grandparents, grandparents and finally my mother and father's childhood.  I chose a very simple design for the book, mimicking the look of a family photo album.  I divided it into 3 sections each separated by a blank double spread, the first my father's family, then my mother's, finishing with their 1963 wedding.  There is no writing in the book.  I had some information that could have become captions, but chose not to.  I want the book to live and so am going to ask my mother to help me to hand write notes about the people directly onto the white pages.  I also left 10 blank pages at the end so that the story may continue if we discover other old photographs.

This was a remarkably emotional project, at times I had to leave it for a while.  It taught me that photographs are far more than art.  It should be obvious, but I have been so deep in the art side that I kind of forgot that photographs are immensely emotional objects, they convey so much history.  But, that history is local and is very fragile, a photograph only has meaning with it's story attached.  My boxes of family photographs mean nothing, unless a name, a place,  a person can be attached to those slowly fading bits of paper.  Once again the learning is that without Narrative and Context photographs can be very cold lifeless things.

This is the book cover, no words, just my mother and father when they were young.  I have chosen a very simple title and not used my name as author, just Clarke | Owen, my father and mothers names.

Similarly for the pages a very simple design, these are images of my Gran when she was young in the 1910's and 20's.

And the Book:

Family | Make Your Own Book

I want to finish this commentary with a few of the more meaningful photographs from this exercise.  They mean so much to me, but only because I now know who they are, well mostly... First my Dad's family

This is one of the more obscure images.  I am pretty certain that they are a mine rescue team and by the look of the moustaches probably from before WW1 or just after.  I am guessing that one of the men is my Great Grandfather of whom this might be the only photo.

Haydock, 1923-24, almost certainly my Grandfathers school football team, again not too sure who is who.

 I am on firmer ground here, this was taken in 1911 and is my Gran and Uncle Alf.

This is Uncle Bill my Gran's brother.  He was lost at sea on a WW2 corvette, torpedoed by a U-Boat and the source of my Grans abiding hatred of the Germans.  She would not be at all happy about where I live now.  Hansom devil!

Gran and Grandad with my father, probably in Blackpool enjoying their summer holidays in that very traditional Northern fashion.  Most photos of my Fathers family come from trips to Blackpool.

My dad, probably aged 2 or 3, love this photo, only found it a few days ago.  It says so much about a working class upbringing in the 1940's.

This is very precious, not the photo, but the way my gran cut out the newspaper announcement of my parents wedding and my dad's degree.  The fact they were in the paper in the first place speaks volumes about working class pride and formalities.

Moving now to my mother's side, this is my Great Gran's wedding, around the turn of the century.  I knew her in my very early years, a very old, very gentle and loving old lady who was always a pleasure to visit.

This is my other Great Grandmother, on my mother's father's side.  I never knew her or for that matter my Grandfather, this is all I have to show that she ever existed.  She was quite pretty but also looks strong.

My mother's father died when she was 16, a great loss, she loved him very much and I suspect I would have as well.  A farmer who was tough but fair and generous.

 My Mother aged 7, now 70, amazing she seems to have hardly changed

And finally my parents wedding, very 1960's...

This project has taught me more about photography than anything I have yet done.  It has brought home the immense value and power of photographs.  They can transport us into the past and bring the dead back to life.  They remind us of who we were and why we are.  This is social documentary at its most basic, the story of a family and why ultimately I am writing this today.

I wonder how many more boxes of photographs lie under beds or in attics slowly losing any meaning, documents that could help future generations better understand themselves and value their lives.  At least two little boys will grow up knowing who their great great grandparents were and what they looked like.  That was worth a couple of weeks work.