As often happens we start out with one thing in mind for project, a meet up, a session, and whatever the “thing” is turns out to be a shift, a pivot and 180 degrees in the opposite direction of what you “thought” you were heading toward, such was a meet up with a client a few weeks ago.

I’d been contact by the wife of a man I used to work with, one of my officers. He was retired as I hit about the halfway mark of my career. Coincidentally we retired to the same small town in the mountains east of the Bay Area, in California. I turned and there he was in the grocery store, I turned around back to him and said, “T-18 traffic I’ve an 11-82 at Milpitas and Calaveras” as I turned around, he was laughing and laughing, so fun. I gave him my card for my photography business, I asked for him to send me an email I'd had some of our mutual friends inquire about him, and we went on our way.

Last month, his wife called and said, “my sister has been widowed, we need photographs of her house” I immediately thought, “of real estate for sale pictures” she said no she wants “memory” pictures. Well, this is interesting of course I can, have her call me we’ll set up a time. Margaret called me a little while later, I asked about her life in the foothills, her home and her husband. Tell me about him and your life. She did briefly, we agreed on a date and time. She called as the time neared and said “I’m afraid the house is still in a state of disarray with packing, getting ready for the move, not quite what I’d hoped by now” I told her no worries, let me come and see, I can do wonders with the camera and a short lens, we’ve started this story, let me come and meet you. She asked for me to take the backroad and get some images of the barns and hillsides for the memories, of course I told her…

I drove down for our meetup, we’d been on the road, and I had a 2+ hour drive and yes, I took the backroads. Margaret came out to greet me, a slight woman, dressed for packing and a sorting kind of day. She says this has been such a challenging thing to do but she knows she needs to be closer to family and in a place in town. . . our conversation began as she spoke, and I listened. Tell me your story, I already knew I was hooked, this wasn’t going to be a “snap snap snap” encounter this was going to be something more, no clock, no other agenda, tell me your story.  

As I walked in and absorbed her home, I knew, I just knew what kind of mind her Richard had been, I could see his art on the walls, on the tables, the bookcases, the shelf behind the fireplace. Items and more art collected from their life travels. I could see all of it, I wasn’t looking at the home which Richard left, and Margaret was having such a challenging time packing up, I saw their life.

The other connection I found while looking around and listening to her story, her Richard had a mind like my father. They are the same generation, I could see it all in the art, the books, the “things of comfort” they had in the house. I saw the two chairs in the living room, I pointed and said bet that one was his may I take a picture, no don’t mind this or that, I want it, I can see him sitting there, I can see him leaving the room from his chair. I’d seen the same room the same things they were also in my father’s home as I photographed his empty chair a decade ago.

Margaret began to tell me of her husband Richard. They met in college, they were living in San Jose, she said she knew him as a neighbor they had friends in common. She used to go chat with him about this guy or that she was dating or contemplating … until one day his roommate said, “don’t you know he wants to date you?” She’d not known, she later learned he’d watch her arrive home and walk upstairs to her apartment, taking note of her miniskirts. They married in 1964 and moved in to live in an old “siren” factory in Los Gatos, California, with some other artists. Her Richard was an artist. When she showed her parents where they were going to live, she said her father was very quiet as he looked around. 

Later in their married life someone wrote a book about the area, the artists, Richard and his work. Margaret shared the little book with me.

We started talking about his art, “tell me about the copper kimono are and the other matching piece.” She wasn’t sure how or why he became interested in the kimono, but I can see they’re made out of copper. Richard carefully wove the pieces in and out creating the depth and texture. The buttons oh these special little buttons, these pieces are amazing.

She shares that Richard was hospitalized every so often with pneumonia and would come home. She was visiting him during his last stay he asked her to bring him paper and cardboard so he could draw he didn’t have his clipboard, he needed cardboard. This last visit was July when Richard passed away. Sometime later we were outside looking at their property, the things they’d done, fencing to keep out the deer, pavers, gates, and art. This was when she told me he had MS, multiple sclerosis. We were more than halfway through out visit before she’d mentioned it, wow he did all of these things, created this life and art and he had MS.

On their property, there is a small barn, I was looking at the rickety stairs going to the loft, she said Richard had a sense of humor, “we’ll just let the stairs go, anyone wanting our things up in the loft will break their neck before they get there…” Then came the largest outbuilding, I asked, “is this his?” She shared yes; this was his studio. I asked may I see it, and she said, “I can’t remember the last time I was in here, maybe earlier in the year.” The workshop was double locked, she went off in search of the keys. I knew there would be treasure inside… A few minutes later she returned with a large key ring, “this might take a while” I was able to see the lock name and we only had to try a few keys before it opened. Into the magic place we walked, I’m seeing the magic of his space she’s seeing his history, his things, he’s not here, first she noted, “there are his water bottles, there is the clipboard he didn’t have, as I turned on the lights. Four light switches I did three of them hit the fourth and the music filled the room, beautiful music, of course he had music, we laughed a bit … it was perfect.

His space as I looked around, it’s messy, it’s dirty, to the non-artist it might look like a hodge-podge of mess and loosely tossed things, oh no … this space, the light, the music, the beauty in the essence of all left behind. The tools for creating his art, the papers, the pieces of copper, empty water bottles, workbench, tools, images on the wall, sculptures in progress…all left behind.

Then I saw the extra chair, Margaret said she’d come out and sit while Richard was working… it's as empty as the chair in their home, left behind.