My hometown is like hot chocolate. I think I was always happy drinking hot chocolate. But I haven’t had it in a very long time.
This project began as a way to bring memories of my hometown to my 89-year-old mother on her deathbed. Comforted by family and hospice, she was rarely awake, but, when she was, she was sharp and fully engaged, and the pictures spurred good conversations.
My mother died halfway through the project, and my pictures shifted – from documentary urban landscapes to poignant landscapes and interiors.
My images hold melancholy and nostalgia. Not despairing sorrow. Memories both vague and crisp. No longing to return. I miss my mother terribly – but the town is only a link, more distant now.
© Mark Farber
mark@markfarber.com
This project began as a way to bring memories of my hometown to my 89-year-old mother on her deathbed. Comforted by family and hospice, she was rarely awake, but, when she was, she was sharp and fully engaged, and the pictures spurred good conversations.
My mother died halfway through the project, and my pictures shifted – from documentary urban landscapes to poignant landscapes and interiors.
My images hold melancholy and nostalgia. Not despairing sorrow. Memories both vague and crisp. No longing to return. I miss my mother terribly – but the town is only a link, more distant now.
© Mark Farber
mark@markfarber.com