When we met a few months ago I felt a strange connection, like the time we shared was just the start of something deeper. You told me you needed my email address because you wanted to write me and I decided to write you myself. We only scratched the surface that night in New York, yet it was clear we had deep things in common. I was born the day your father died and when I mentioned that, you looked at me intensely, I will always remember that. You were exactly the same age I was when my father died and I imagine the connection you never had influenced your photography. I asked you if the scenes you shoot were scenes from your childhood, dreams of events that never happened, whimsical days with parents who were rarely there. I meant to ask you more that day, but I decided to save it for the next time we meet. Now that will never happen, you passed yesterday, on my son’s birthday, and I sit here with a letter I never sent and questions I never got to ask. What am I to do with them now? You would probably tell me to ask the same questions in my own art, so I will try to do that.
Thank you for your voice, Rodney.
It was one of a kind.
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