One Year

This work is a portrait of my father’s last year of life. After a diagnosis of metastatic liver cancer, time did not simply pass, it contracted. The future narrowed from years to months, from months to days. What remained was presence. These photographs were not planned as a project. I made them instinctively with my phone while living beside him in hospital rooms, in waiting, in silence. I did not photograph to explain illness. I photographed to remain. There are no medical narratives here. What becomes visible instead is the gradual transformation of a body, the repetition of small gestures, the weight of waiting, the intimacy of care. A hand resting on another. A window looked at for a long time. Music listened to with closed eyes. This work exists because he was my father. The camera was allowed to stay because it belonged to closeness, not observation. It was not distance that produced these images, but proximity. This is not a story about disease. It is a portrait of presence as it slowly changes and of what remains when repair is no longer possible.