Traces of my dad
In my post-surgery days I stayed with my mom in Etne to recover. During this time I learned about my family history and especially about my dad who grew up in the same village. One day we went on a hike to the ruins of my grandfathers house and my stepdad pointed his finger to a small house across the lake and told me that that`s where my dad grew up. I was shocked hearing this and found it incredible (and typical my family) that I had not learned this fact until now. I always thought my dad grew up on the farm I stayed every summer where my grandparents lived, but apparently he did not move there until he was 20 years old. I was curious to see the house where he grew up, so we drove around the lake to get a closer look. From the road I could tell there was something weird about it, all the windows were open and it looked like it was in a bad state. At a closer look I could see a “For sale” sign on exterior walls by the entrance. The sign presented itself as an opportunity for a closer inspection, and perhaps a “welcome” from my dad. As I approached the house it became obvious that this home will not never be lived in again. The rot was not yet rotten through, but everything about it still reeked of decomposition and disarray. The word pandemonium feels like the most accurate description of what has been happening both inside and outside the walls of this house. My dad has not lived here since 1980 and many peoples stories and memories has layered on top of his since then. But it was still fascinating to enter and see the house, that I just learned was my dad`s childhood home. I went in with my camera just to see if there could be any traces, hints or remains of him. The house is surely going to be torn down soon, so I wanted to see the infrastructure of the house before it was too late. The last tenants left the house in what I can only describe as a wild state and it was quite sad to envision the lives that had just taken place here. In the thick layers of rubble consisting of everything you can imagine, I was moving around as a careful as I could. The camera initiated almost an archeological excavation, digging beneath the sediments, where I thought I caught a few glimpses of my dad. I felt him especially through the views of the windows, where I would get an exact frame of something he saw. We (my dad and I) would see the same proud beech tree standing outside the condensing window, the same that I saw in the few childhood photos that he left us. I also sensed him in the doorways and the different passages to each room. Where he would daydream and sleep and wake up and look out the window. It was an imaginative exercise and an attempt to get closer to my dad whom is still a huge mystery to me and it was a good timing considering it has been 14 years since he passed and the house is up for destruction.
