The Love I Carry

After losing my family, I explore how the love I received as a child endures. Through photographs, objects, and daily rituals, I trace their presence within me, transforming years of caregiving into self-care and a reflection on lasting love and memory.

Three years after losing my mother—the last living member of my family—I began to turn my lens inward. For years before her death, I was her sole caregiver as she lived with dementia, unaware that the exhaustion and isolation I felt had a name: caregiver syndrome. When my aunt died, and a month later my mother passed away, it felt as though the foundation of my family had vanished, leaving me completely alone. Yet slowly, I realized they were not gone—I see my mother in my gestures, hear her voice in mine, and feel their presence in the smallest rituals of daily life.

I now live in my aunt and uncle’s apartment, where the same trees stand outside the windows and the same apple tree yields fruit each summer. In June, peonies bloom as they always have, fragile yet enduring reminders of love and continuity. Looking at old photographs where they gaze at me with love, or at childhood drawings filled with the freedom they encouraged, I recognize how strong a foundation they gave me. That foundation has carried me through loss and continues to guide me.

Project Overview:

This ongoing project delves into the enduring impact of parental and familial love, emphasizing its pivotal role in shaping identity and navigating life's challenges. Through a blend of self-portraits, inherited objects, and childhood photographs, I explore how early experiences of care and affection inform resilience, self-understanding, and self-compassion in adulthood. By mixing images from the past and present, the project underscores that our identity is not fixed—it is continuously formed through memory, experience, and the presence of those who shaped us. The work reflects a journey from caregiving to self-care, highlighting how love received in childhood continues to guide and define us. My project aligns with the grant mission by presenting a personal narrative that resonates universally, illustrating how love and memory persist across generations and shape who we become.

Final Outcome:

The project will lead to an exhibition showing my recent photographs together with pictures from my childhood. By placing past and present side by side—and at times intertwined—it emphasizes that the past is present within us, and that the love we receive from family continues to form our identity, guiding and supporting us throughout life.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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I sleep with my face in shadow, yet a narrow beam of light from the window rests on my cheek. Three years after losing the last members of my family, I found myself ready to face the quiet weight of grief through art.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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It's me. I a few years old. In the garden which now I inherited from my uncles. In my smile, you can see acceptance and a happy childhood.

© Aga Luczakowska - A photo I took of my parents when I was three years old, probably the very first picture I ever took.
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A photo I took of my parents when I was three years old, probably the very first picture I ever took.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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A tender note from my father to my mother in the hospital, celebrating the arrival of their child and his intuition that she would be a girl.

© Aga Luczakowska - A single peony flower, captured in its brief moment of bloom.
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A single peony flower, captured in its brief moment of bloom.

© Aga Luczakowska - A photograph of my mother as a teenager, found in a family album.
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A photograph of my mother as a teenager, found in a family album.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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A symbolic image of clouds drifting and merging, like passing thoughts during meditation. In those difficult times, meditation helped me observe, accept, and let go—just as clouds move across the sky.

© Aga Luczakowska - The last ‘image’ of my mother – her heart’s ECG recorded by paramedics just moments before her death.
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The last ‘image’ of my mother – her heart’s ECG recorded by paramedics just moments before her death.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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Plates, cups, and serving dishes that for decades marked our family’s celebrations—holidays, namesdays, milestones. Once the heart of our gatherings, the tableware is no longer needed, yet still holding the memories of a family that is gone.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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Peonies, cut from the garden my aunt and uncle once tended, now stand in a vase within the apartment I inherited from them. They bloom for only a week, and it was during their flowering that my aunt passed away.

© Aga Luczakowska - Image from the The Love I Carry photography project
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I hold a portrait of my mother as a mask—not to hide behind her, but to reveal the ways she still lives within me. I don’t visit her grave but I see her daily—in my gestures, my voice, my face. The mask becomes a mirror.

The Love I Carry by Aga Luczakowska

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