Care

Care

Some of the best documentary photography has been done by people working within their own family or friendship groups. The have documented the illness, decline and death of parents, partners and friends, or the travails and recovery of people close to them battling with mental and physical illness.

I’m not one of them: too inhibited by the conventions, too worried about giving offence, sometimes too close. And always the feeling that to document is to intrude, especially with people who are reticent about being the centre of any sort of attention.

Some years ago, I made 6-weekly visits to an aunt who had become bedridden, and though fortunate enough to be able to pay for private care in her own home, spent several years in the process of dying – something that she had hoped she would do swiftly, possibly walking on Exmoor. First her body failed her, and then her mind. I took a few pictures that were not of her, including a non-portrait of the view from the window of her lounge, which was also her bedroom for several years.

But I never took pictures showing her decline directly, and sometimes this troubles me: is it some sort of moral or photographic failing on my part?

I think, possibly, not. What I can do with a camera is – despite appearances – pretty non-intrusive. The models I photograph are celebrating their existence by working as models, and are able to present themselves at their very best. They collude with me in portraying their beauty.

What does a family documentary series need, I wonder? Certainly, an ability to use a camera without much thought of the technical, but that’s true of most areas of photography. And often, the sort of rather confrontational image that is honest about decline and decay needs only the most basic of settings: Program mode will often do. Maybe on-camera flash is OK as well, as it is for happy family snaps.

Some sort of understanding with the subject, definitely sits at the top of the list. You can’t make these pictures without a deep engagement, without some sort of empathy, the willingness to let you own heart break. But there must also be steel, to recognise and capture the telling moment. It’s like photographing your child when they are hurt and crying… There is a risk that what you need to make the picture is also what destroys the relationship that underpins the picture…

Yet some people manage it… I would welcome insights, stories and suggestions. And, befitting my failures with this area, there are no images today.