This summer was a bad one for me.
I started experiencing chest, jaws and arm pains which resulted in me getting three stents placed into my heart to open up severely blocked arteries.
While laying in my hospital bed starting at the depressingly bland walls with ominous medical devices attached to them and the meaningless hospital informational notices, I began to wonder what would be the last thing that I would see when it was my time to go. Would those horrible walls be a precursor to the events leading to the end of my life? I also began exploring the connection with various events preceding the operation that felt almost like a unconscious precognition of what would was to come.
I have spent most of my life trying to understand the things that I have seen. My first images that I can remember is that of me following my father from a dark room to a lit one. I have always been fascinated by images and have spent thousands of hours looking at them and pouring a part of myself into them as I explored other places that were profoundly different then my own.
I came to realize that one day, I would see one last image, take one last photo and then I would be gone. What would that be?
We remember so much about our lives through the images we store up in our minds. They fill us with emotions and remembered sensations of events from our past. They make up so much of who we are because those memories inform us and influence us in how we conduct ourselves in the future. It has been so much of a part of my life that I have turned that fascination into a profession that has fed me and my family in more ways then one.
One day, there will be one last picture that I will take. I hope that it has some meaning to someone beyond myself.