The night my father died my mother took photographs of him, as she knew that this would be the last time she would see him and wanted to remember him the way he was on his death bed. She would say that sleep is a peaceful sanctuary, and he would enter an internal slumber where there was no pain or discomfort. And to look upon these images and know he is at peace.
Choirs of angels were all around us, singing a song about the end but also the beginning. The moment when a being transcends, a journey through liminal space. The Sublime in Death, falling between two worlds.
The act of burning the photographs in turn is a metaphor for the transcendence of a being into a liminal space. The keepsakes of Flowers from his funeral they had dried whole and unpressed, are a blanket over him. To bring forth is aura as it Blurs together, present at the threshold.”