Before I boxed Aunt Charlotte’s apartment away I photographed as much as I could. I took thousands of pictures, but could not capture what it felt like to be here, the odd warmth from the old iron radiators, and the damp cold that creeps in when they are off. The smells of incense that is [...]

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There is nothing like the festive season to make one think of the dead. Or as our father often says as a toast, “To friends no longer with us.” Here is a very haunting video of our parents dear departed friend Mr. Keyes’ song Misfits shot in his apartment in 2002 by Annie Smidt and [...]

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Sitting in the bathroom watching him shave is a religious experience. His ritual. He is thin, skeletal, and wears only a towel tightly wrapped around his waist. His skin is a constellation map of scars. I touch them and he makes a slight hiss, pulls the straight edge razor from his face, “Not while I’m [...]

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I fear I’ve spent far too much time alone and have started talking to myself and giving inanimate objects names like Mr. Kettle when it whistles or Mr. Broom when I need to sweep. I’ve made friends with the widower down the hall Monsieur Murakami, who has loaned me his daughter Sophie’s upright piano insisting [...]

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Although I know how ill he really is, I hated admitting that his gauntness made him all the more attractive. His fragility is so alluring to me, his wrists are my undoing. His hands move like a magician’s would, practiced and with pleasure. Everything he did, from removing a card from his wallet to opening [...]

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