If there is a single anything I owe photography it must be its capacity to make me turn back the clock and revisit some of the memories that would be otherwise lost forever. My mother, gone from this world a year ago this November, lives unchanged in this portrait taken with her granddaughter who is already 27 years of age, but who like her grandma will never grow old and will always look an angelical eight year old as she was, when this portrait was taken.
This is my mother and my older daughter, Sahara, during the summer of 1989.
1 comment:
i remember how abuelita's hair feels...i remember combing it this time and last. how different from mine. how much resilience she maintained throughout her life. i remember i remember i remember, as much as in this family my memories are a sequence, or a smattering, of black and white negatives...
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