My father loved the visual arts but was unable to master any kind of artistic practice. He did, however, approach his shortcomings with humor and never let them stop him from showing me almost everything there was to see in the art world. Because of this, he continually motivated me to try new things and develop critical thinking.
In September of 1989, he signed me up for a photography course and from then on, I began to photograph avidly. Looking back, I am grateful to my mother’s patience for allowing me to setup a dark room in the bathroom and to my father for the Sunday mornings that he took me photographing. I think during those first two or three years, on these Sundays, I went to almost every place within 15 miles of our house with the Nikon around my neck.
It was on one of those first Sunday mornings that I took this picture. We rarely talked about my photographs, but my dad always told me it was “one of the good ones”. Thirty years later, I think he was right. I’m so sorry I can no longer talk to him about this photograph.
I miss those Sunday mornings. Every single day.