At the time of writing this, the start of the school year is only two days away, and the busy season about to begin.
My daughter and I share our work-and-play space, my computer and her toys occupying the same room. It was meant as a temporary arrangement we set up last summer while my office was being renovated. Today, the new flooring still sits uninstalled in boxes, the room resting at the bottom of our priority list as I try to figure out how it can best be used.
I thought my daughter would enjoy spending time so close together, but she has asked more than once when I will finally move out of her playroom. At this point, I’m not sure if that will happen anytime soon, much to her disappointment.
Yet being so close has provided an unexpected opportunity: watching her play while I work, her largely ignoring my presence. Her imaginative play has grown increasingly complex, touching on themes of good and bad, family life, and death. She’s at an age where she still speaks everything she thinks out loud rather than internally, like a play being performed in real time.
At the start of the summer, she left a group of her Barbies sitting on the playroom windowsill. Each day I entered the room expecting them to have been relocated, but there they remained, frozen where she had last placed them before moving on.
Studying them, I reached for my camera, not sure what I would do with the image, if I would do anything at all. It sat on my hard drive for several days.
Then, another arrangement captured my attention, a lonely scene of a chair with a candle in the attic of her dollhouse.
Slowly, a project began to emerge.
I started photographing her toys as I encountered them. First in black and white, and then in color and blurred abstraction. The more images I took, the more I realized that I was taking photos of two childhoods. Hers as it exists now, fluid, vibrant, and alive, and my own, the black and white feeling more distant, observational, and removed.
The images exist in pairs, sitting in conversation with each other. Her childhood unfolding in real time while mine receded further into memory.
The photographs document what is left once imagination has left the room.
The Remains of Play.
The Remains of Play
A favorite toy my daughter loves
Perched upon a makeshift tower.
The dangling tag,
The marker of her possession.
The remains of play sit next to me,
Remnants of the morning routine.
A statue honoring what has passed
And what has been forgotten.
—LC