My Family

Whenever one of my kids sustained a bump while out playing, I’d take a snap. Soon, I had a collection of black eyes and bloody noses, and a new way of bonding with my children. The photos were a way of being proud of their scrapes. Naturally, all three of my kids are reasonable enough not to go out and deliberately injure themselves in order to get in a photo. Not only would this be something I couldn’t support as a parent, it would go against what the project is about: a series that always concerns real experiences, creating a more realistic version of the shiny, fake family album.

Eventually, I used one of these images as the main promotional shot for a documentary film about my work. To me, it was a way to show pride in my offspring. Others found the image shocking. Without knowing the full story, it was assumed that I was showing abused children. As an experiment, I also approached publishers with my series. The reactions were similar: they were terrified. 

It seems that we’ve created a series of rules by which children should be photographed. Kids must be always laughing, always happy or always doing charming things. I believe these shocked responses have to do with the fact that we’ve been taught to interpret pictures in one very particular way. A setting sun is always romantic and a kid with a bloody nose has of course been the victim of some adult predator. 

So we opt for self-censorship, hoping that excluding “bad” images will somehow cause the memories themselves to evaporate. This saddens me, because reflecting on an unpleasant occurrence can give you insight and broaden your perspective. I want images that reflect life in its complexity. Sure, that sounds like a mighty demand, and likely impossible, but let’s give it a go.