Mothers and Children
I return to Tarkus, the subject of a previous photograph. He’s with his mother near their home. Their eyes are closed. I’m unhappy that I didn’t take extra shots to find the right moment. But then I wonder, what is the right moment? There are times I close my eyes. I don’t always want to see or be seen by the other, and so I retreat into myself. I like that the mother gently touches her son. He leans into her just as I enjoy leaning into those whom I trust. The image touches me, as I hold the two roles of protective parent and trusting child tightly together.
Sheila, a young woman of 96, just moved into the home of her daughter, Laurie, a physician and old friend. Sheila is dressed in bright, youthful clothing; Laurie wears the coat of her medical profession. But there is nothing clinical about their relationship. They hold each other’s arms tenderly. It’s hard to see who’s the mom and who’s the daughter. Like the masks they wear, they could easily reverse roles. As I perceive the image, I am among them—with a subtle smile and frown—holding and being held in the warm glow of the photographer’s lamp.