Julian Lass

One-handed photography


Let me tell you a story about a son I knew. He photographed his mother every week for years, capturing her in the chair where she'd always sat next to the window. The son assembled these images in a book - hundreds of weeks, hundreds of photos, the same chair, the same window, but his mother slowly changing, growing older. One day, looking through this book, he began to weep. "Why are you crying?" his mother asked. "You have preserved these precious moments! Each day lives forever in these pages." The son replied, "I am remembering how you used to fret about these weekly photographs. 'Oh no, not another picture! I look terrible today! Why do you need so many?' What are you now, when these images have become my most treasured possession?"