I’ve posted before about the artistic impulse to ‘leave something behind.’ (‘Why?’ August 16 2011) I think of it as creating time capsules.
I just opened an unexpected time capsule.
My father died on November 28th, 2009, in Jerusalem. His wife and life-partner, my step-mother (though she rejects the title) still grieves. Sorting through and making order in the home they had shared for forty-five years, she found a roll of never-developed black and white film.
Nothing on the outside told of the film’s age or content. But a specialist film developer brought it out.
From the many images of my siblings, it seems the photographs are from 1972. Nearly forty years after they were taken, and almost two years after his death, my father is peaking at me from behind a tree.
I look at the tree, which forms a V.
I make the sign back to it with my hand.