Tag: grief

by jad

I Confess that Nothing was Planned

I wrote something before I went to the rally for Lebanon on Broadway. I described how a lot of people were asking me variations of a question: how are you? And when I showed up, I was still in that headspace. The one where I’d replied in the best way I could. Honestly, concisely, with equal-parts appreciation and reserve. I went to the protest out of a sense of duty, but I was feeling burnt out, and it was probably showing in my photography. I’d admitted that I’d been copy-pasting a few replies. I tried to be genuine without over-performing … Continue reading “I Confess that Nothing was Planned” →

by jad

I Am Grief

These double-exposures came about by reloading the roll that got stuck when my Ricoh point and shoot stopped working into a Nikon SLR; the frames clearly didn’t align properly, and the original frames were somehow flipped. No matter. These work well in visualizing my deep dislocation being here while Lebanon’s under attack. It’s a heavy, jumbled up feeling, but — irony of ironies — it’s far from unfamiliar. This slow, rolling rumble of indignation; I’ve felt it before. This gnaw of fear; I’m used to the feeling. These pangs of guilt; they’re always there. It’s all second nature, at this … Continue reading “I Am Grief” →

by jad

A Place for Grief

Last week, I watched someone pour ashes by a bench at this park. I’d noticed her sitting with an older woman with a bright purple bouquet next to them that caught my eye, and within seconds, she got up and started pouring out the ashes from a small plastic baggie. My heart skipped a beat like I’d encroached on a private moment, but there was no helping it; I was seated in the car parked right next to them. I was sharing this moment, whether I’d planned to or not. I said a silent prayer as we peeled away. Eventually, … Continue reading “A Place for Grief” →

by jad

The Machine is Broken

“This machine is broken.” You can’t read it, but that’s what the piece of paper says in the third and fourth slides. I took these Polaroids earlier today because I’ve been searching for a means to articulate a melancholy that’s become neck deep; a feeling of fundamental disjunction between how I spend my days and my weeks and what this particular time in history is actively asking of you and me. There’s a break between my life’s work and our common purpose that’s become increasingly impossible to ignore. How are we to look back on our actions today?How am I … Continue reading “The Machine is Broken” →

by jad

R.I.P. Piper

I had a really good day on my last day in Houston. Everything seemed to flow well, like a gentle brook, all the way through to takeoff when the plane synced up with the on-board “house mix” I had playing in my earbuds. Everything felt right, even when plans changed or there were unexpected delays. I felt happy and whole. And that whole time I was feeling that way, our beloved blind cat in Lebanon was rapidly dying from a blood clot, unbeknownst to me. I’m thinking about that disjunction, now that Piper has passed. Was I being prepared for … Continue reading “R.I.P. Piper” →

by jad

Rituals & Liturgies, Fathers & Sons

The last time I was in this venue seeing this band was also the first time I started imagining myself taking photos in spaces like these. That’s the night I met Dom and Ellie and asked about their cameras; I even spoke to veterans like John whom I’ve seen at nearly every gig I’ve been to since, arm raised, Canon blazing. Michael and I reminisced about that last night; it hasn’t even been a whole year, but it feels a lot longer. In that time, I’ve enjoyed figuring out something like a style and bits and pieces of a technique … Continue reading “Rituals & Liturgies, Fathers & Sons” →