We are trapped at home; a situation shared the world over. My working husband, two active young boys, a lively Jack Russell and me, mother-cum-observer of both the mundane and remarkable alike. Days eerily steal away, lost in the repeat and the repeat and the repeat of it all. I lose grip of time as each day noisily rattles into the other. Everything beyond these walls seems shattered, lost, unfathomable. I need something to slow me, to slow us, down...a primal need to feel grounded. I have veered towards introspection, meditation, poetry and contemplated the philosophies of life, hope despair and love. Anything to keep me afloat. Anything to meld the fragments of brokenness. Picking up my camera, I take the first picture. Click. It feels good. The next day I pick it up again. Click. Click. Click., my first time photographing my family like this. There’s a sense of vulnerability in sharing this intimacy elsewhere.
“Vulnerability is the birthplace of love, belonging, joy, courage, empathy and creativity”* and so I pursue the images before me. Images and words come together. I am weaving a storyline. A visual diary of life as it unfolds in our household. But more importantly, I am bringing forth a gift for my boys, a future retrospective. A love letter from a mother to her sons, in the time of coronavirus.