Worth a thousand words

Many years ago, a family friend asked me why I thought people kept photos of loved ones who had died. I replied with the bullish confidence of a 22-year-old and said “because it helps us keep their memory alive”. I don’t know why I said that, but I think of it from time to time.

What I would say now is that a photograph is a gateway. A powerful portal to memory and sense, for good or for bad. It allows us to be in that moment once more and acts as a map from past to present.

4 years ago today, my father died. As time passes, I am constantly re-understanding him. As I examine our history and my identity I am starting to come to terms with the duality of our human existence. I think that we are the most and the least that people believe of us, and we believe of ourselves. Both the fearless adventurer, and the emotional coward. Both the dazzling and the disappointing. We are just humans... in all our flawed glory.

This photo was taken in the early 1980s in Woomera. We would have been packing to drive up to Coober Pedy in "418" our trusty Holden Kingswood station wagon, held together with dental fixative and sheer willpower. My father is there – all blonde, and capable, and driven. It was a golden time…

His legacy I suppose is my brother and me. Kids with a flair for theatricality and long car rides.

In memory. Laurence J. Henbest (1946-2019)

Originally posted to Facebook on 11 April 2023