Dismantling a Life unfolds through a series of photographs taken over the 46 days my dad was in hospital, the morning of his death and the following weeks of grief, dismantling my childhood home. Confronted with the very real possibility that my dad was going to die I tentatively picked up my camera and carried it with me to the hospital each day. The images felt obligatory, almost a chore, and I didn’t look at any of them until after he died. I knew that they would only hold meaning if my worst fear came true so I had no interest as I was making them. I’m glad that I did document that blurry time and I’m grateful for his participation in them as I wonder if he thought what I thought. The unspoken deals of the photographer and the sitter. The work is interspersed with bits of text on envelopes I’ve since found on my dads kitchen table, bundled in a butchers clip,  that speak to me, from him, about us.