contemplativeThe ones that are a little creepy are the ones from my parents wedding. These aren't the professional wedding photo shots that I've seen. I suspect my brother took them. There are odd things in some. Like the picture of my father looking pleased as he holds out my mother's hand, showing the ring, while she gazes away from him, looking stricken. It has all the aspects of one of those Victorian arranged-marriage studies. But viewing everything down the years, I suspect she already knew, on some level, she was a trophy wife, more possession than person, an aspect of the relationship that would haunt her down the years, and give her endless misery that she attempted to rationalize and push away.
But then there are the other ones. Pictures of her with me, as a baby--comment from a friend last night: "She looks so happy." Oh yes, absolutely radiant. As, also, in the photos of my third Christmas. This was the woman who claimed to hate Christmas, "I only did it for you when you were little" she told me when I was 11, but here she is, absolutely glowing. Then there is one in shadows, with her holding me, like a strange Mannerist painting of a Madonna and child.
The joys of motherhood were obviously enough to temporarily overrule the trauma that shadowed her. But little by little, as I grew closer to adulthood, the shadows started to close in, again... I want to trace some evolutions through photos, if I can find a reasonable photo record carrying through... It could be interesting.
