What is a photograph…

to me?

Little me (center & left lower corner with dad “in America”), my dad as a boy sitting on a stool for his only childhood portrait, his dad (the boy in the family pic, my dear Granddad Gunn), my oldest son with our first grandchild (right middle/lower)

Stopped motion, hidden thought. Life when there is none. The fulfillment of temporary joy — the balm of memory while holding grief. It’s the deep gaze into the eyes of our Creator, our own flesh and blood, unrelated and so very related. It is all the questions answered and unanswered. A photograph is a season craved, or a reason to change. Reflections of youth, hope, aspirations — and the complete opposite story. Sometimes a photograph bares the soul of a painful season, while in unison says “well done.” A photograph is held when we are not. Cherished company on the mantle. Face down, or removed forever, in our anger. A photograph reminds us that we were there, noticing, even when we were not in the picture. When there are no words, a picture can speak a thousand.

A photograph is a song remembered.

As our hands turn the pages of old family albums, the heart beats all the above.

There’s my dear, dear Granddad, Albert Gunn, proudly standing behind his mother and father, my great grandparents, at the beginning of the 20th century, during WW1. My great granddad in uniform. On the left is his older sister, my Auntie Doll, his twin sisters, Aunties Ivy and Violet and sweet Lillian, who died shortly after this photograph, at the age of 10, from tuberculosis. Finding this in a pile of old things recently, I dropped to the floor and had a good cry. I instantly saw so much of my family in this photograph. The familiar closed-mouth smiles, grins, cheekbones, eye shapes, hesitation, joy, want, life. So much life. A life taken. Did my great grandmother “keep calm and carry on,” while her husband was away? As I stared at Lillian, it overwhelmed me to see my dad, myself, my firstborn son, and my first granddaughter in her, and in my granddad. Her precious face. I saw the love and grief of a family.

The same which brought me to this “artfully undone” place, where expanding creativity has been a beautiful necessity to survival.

Photographs are the unwritten, invaluable language of our existence.

The most truthful, “alive” inanimate treasure on earth.

What is a photograph to me? they are us, whispering to us: “keep going.”

Joy at a backyard party. I always bring a camera kit everywhere I go. rarely using a flash — but in high paced editorial photography it can be quite necessary and impactful while shooting on the fly. I popped it on and caught the joy in a few snaps — then it was over and she went onto something else, as kids do. (Canon image)

< Originally posted May 8th, 2026 on Substack >