Photographing Grief
Grief is hard. Pain is hard. Loss is hard. We are used to getting ready and looking our best, presenting only strength and confidence to the world. We learned from a young age that you can't show weakness, or someone will take advantage of you. Pain is often private, and we are uncomfortable sharing that with anyone. We don't show the world our difficult moments. That is exactly what is different at a funeral. Grief at a funeral is a shared thing. Everyone that attends each knew this person a little differently, but we all come together to share in honoring their life and memory. There is no judgement here but rather understanding. No expectations, just love, support and respect. We are all aware of our own personal pain, and together we buoy each other up. I know that this is a sensitive time, and I treat my responsibility to be respectful and discreet with the highest priority. My deepest desire is for my images to bring comfort and healing. I hope to capture the love and tenderness of the moment, and yes, at times, the pain.
I get it, it feels weird to think about immortalizing the moments of sadness of family and friends during this time. However, I think important moments should be captured and preserved. Important isn't always smiles and laughter or birthdays and holidays. 'Important' is deeper than that. We feel grief because we have felt love. And honestly, there's a lot of joy at a funeral too. In my experience funerals often have a lot of laughter and reunions between family and friends. I feel that the driving motivation of my work comes from helping people see the positive ways their loved ones have impacted others and reminding them that there was gladness too, along with the grief.
Ultimately, I don't want people to be distracted by my presence, and I want to capture what the family wants me to capture. If they feel uncomfortable about certain things, I will refrain from photographing those things. Most often the family will give me free reign to use my best judgement in what to capture. I never use a flash or get up in people's faces. I try to stay to the side, using a telephoto zoom lens to catch moments among the crowd. This lets people feel like I'm not really there and they can stay in the moment.
Sometimes someone tells me they think they would never want to look at photos from a funeral, perhaps because they don't like the idea of being reminded, or sometimes because they say they get over things quickly, so they wouldn't need them. But I've spoken with so many people that wished they had images from their loved one's funeral from years ago. One woman said she would have loved to have images of the flowers, and a picture of how many people came. Another gentleman said they remembered an uncle that came but became ill at a later date and passed away too. The funeral he attended was the last event where people got to see him. A mother told me she wished she could show her kids pictures of her husband's memorial service as they were young children at the time, and all they have are a few low-quality pictures from a cell phone, taken from too far away.
My heart breaks for everyone that wishes they had something more special to honor their loved ones and doesn't. Every time I've delivered photos I get back messages telling me how impactful and special they are to them. They thank me over and over for saving these moments for them. That's why I do this. I hope we can shift the cultural perceptions around photographing grief. I feel like we are well on our way, but there are still people that give sidelong glances, thinking that I am invading private moments with my camera. I want people to know they weren't alone, and I want them to have beautiful images of the services and moments between loved ones. I want them to find peace.
