A photograph is a chance. I wrote it down in my notebook. It is my father’s way of encouraging me, of connecting with me, I know that. He may not understand me completely or know me as well as I would like him, but he is trying. He is doing his best. He knows I love it. He knows it is important to me. This is why he never complains when I photograph him. He never says, why don’t you use your phone, why do you need to carry all of these cameras with you, why do you think this is important to photograph? He just leaves me to photograph whatever I want.

It is a sort of freedom of doing whatever you want, that you usually only feel in a space that you are comfortable. Maybe in your home, in your bedroom. But this is not my home. It is a place outside, that is not really mine. It is taken by others sometimes, whether people I know or complete strangers. I can’t say that I miss this place as much as I would miss the comfort of being in my room. But there’s a missing of another sort, of what this place could be.

On May 31, 2018, I wrote in my notebook: I have come to the conclusion that this project will be about our meetings, and every time we meet, I will photograph.

This is it.

I wanted that he, and this, would be part of my routine. I wrote notes along the way, reminders, thoughts and feelings.