|Dinner on the pier at Lyttelton Harbour. November, 1986. Dad (mid-chew), Mom and Leonard.|
For the past few nights I've been rifling through boxes looking for photos of Christchurch, but it turns out that I don't have very many. There are lots of shots of family life in the '70's and '80's -- birthday cakes and napping children and a photo Dad took of Mom standing tall and proud next to her magnolia. But very little shows how much was lived in the city itself; no one captured our giggling, teenage loitering in front of the cathedral downtown, or Friday nights spent wandering from Whitcoull's to Smith's to the fabric shop where Mom looked at patterns and planned her next sewing project, or the way we draped ourselves over the bridge railings where the Avon River makes that curve -- you know, round by the boat house and the Botanic Gardens?
I still dream, at least a couple times a year, of riding the bus up Colombo Street, tracing its route from home to town and back again. And now, of course, home videos show the utter devastation along those same bits of road. Who knew so much and so many could be lost in a minute or two?
All of this to say how glad I am that your Al goes into Sydney every Sunday and takes photos in its streets; that Mil draws the buildings and trees and sky around you; that you capture that beautiful Australian light and shadow in your prints. Promise me you'll keep doing it forever and ever?
It's time to go out and take some photos.