she ’ s squinting . On a bright day or inside a dark room , her eyes were always narrow , like she was judging or protecting herself from judgement . Although here , and maybe it ’ s just because of the angle of the sun , she ’ s showing off the deep cerulean color of her eyes that I forgot she had . As if , like they say , it ’ s the happiest day of her life .
( p . 2-6 ) A collection of photographs of myself as a baby , dated 1974-1975 . There isn ’ t much to comment on here . A feeling of self-awareness to these baby-photos . The painstaking choreography of making sure there ’ s a milk-bottle in my right hand and rattle in my left ; the , no doubt , clicking of fingers and soft calls behind camera to ensure I ’ m looking in the right direction ; a photo which knows it will be accompanied by the warbled cry of they grow up so fast , arriving almost instantaneously with the sound of the shutter .
There ’ s a recurring companion of my toy cat in this mini collection , its brown color getting increasingly weathered by sunlight and age . My mother told me we were inseparable , but I barely recognize it . If it had a name other than Cat , it ’ s been forgotten .
( p . 7-10 ) Wide photographs showing off our house and garden ; a barbecue with our neighbors , the Walshes , 1979 . I ’ d be lying if I said the smell of a sizzling patty instantly takes me back to these gatherings . There are always some details that I could pretend hold more emotional weight than they actually do : how the long grass pressed into my legs as I played trucks with Sara , a few years older than me ; or how the ice sloshed around in the juice pitcher my mother brought from the kitchen . No , these barbecues left a lasting memory because we moved away from that house shortly after . It was the peaceful refuge before our difficult time in New York . Whenever I think of home – what the traditional bathroom should look like , how big the garden should be , or on which wall the TV must be placed – it ’ s the details of this family house which attempt to steer the impression .
Here ’ s a photograph of me at night , I must have been maybe five or six , lighting a firework . I ’ m clearly scared . A protective arm hides half my face . John rests a hand on my shoulder . We ’ ve no doubt been filled with hot dogs , burgers , supermarket salads , and a crate of Miller ’ s for the two dads . The Walshes ’ Great Dane is probably tied to the metal fence just beyond the optical reach of the camera , at the request of Allison , who tries to subtly remind the neighbors that she hates dogs .
Luke Blundell 51