Fragments of the Dying Man is a representation of fragility, loss and desire. A story of someone precariously juggling life and death, desiring to live and also having the fear of not reaching the end. A lover long lost, whose absence from this world becomes the raison d'être of this work. It is intertwined with the way I live life now. This has been portrayed through an act of fiction and performance where a few strangers show their vulnerable moments and bares their heart out to me. The camera acts an interface between us- a medium to desire , a medium to converse. I look for fragments of me in them and also in the world around me when I am not with anyone.
The people interpret my conversations with a lost lover and I ask them what does desire mean to them? Some say they fear to desire and some say they desire to fear. I try to read it all through their faces and actions. There is a tension and a complex intimacy that develops between us. It challenges the photographer and photographed relationships, the relation between the Self and the Other, The Ego and the Ideal, balanced between rigidity and non-conformity.
The textual exchanges of email and social media messages become a structural chord between people not related to each other enjoying their position of intimacy and pleasure of desiring and wanting to be photographed. Through this, I try to question the absence and physicality of loss and impermanence.
A room here is the proscenium where the performance of longing occurs. A room that creates the illusion of memories of my time spent with a woman I loved and never expressed. A room, bounded by walls on all four corners, a room that can make one feel trapped , yet make someone close to you. A room where one can wait, fight, make love. It is this room that blurs the line between reality and phantasmagorical, between Now and Forever.
When I leave the room, I still look for fragments. Fragments of death, fragments of loss and even life. I try to complete missing pieces of a puzzle in a mad world of vice and lies, of illusions near and far ,the puzzle called Life knowing well I will never be able to, till Death.
A cis-woman, a queer artist, a gay man, a lesbian woman,me and many like me responding to what I provoke in them. Does the gender or identity really matter in love? To desire? To fear? To live? How much is enough?
I like to let go of the camera and expose my own vulnerabilities to them and to confront my own fear. This is also an observation on identity of a person and how words and photographs contaminate each other to add a deeper context to my emotional response. It attempts to question the meaning of fragility and is fragility considered to be beautiful? Does strength lie in being fragile for a man and a woman alike?
Work in Progress.