Since I can remember, the garage has always been full of junk. My dad, who was its main inhabitant, was somewhat of a hoarder when it came to things that may or may not be useful and over time, content grew steadily. In his later years, however, my dad became less interested in the usefulness of things and more concerned with an object’s artistic merit (a highly subjective matter) and was partial to using various odds and ends in some of his more abstract photographic work.
About this time, he also started opening up the garage to people who were following the North Bristol Art Trail as our house was a venue for a number of years. Things were (vaguely) arranged into displays, wording was added and a few of my dad’s photographs were slipped into the gaps.
It only featured for a couple of years, though, due to his reluctance to maintain his membership of the organisation and increasing ill-health.
After a brief fling with notoriety, the garage went back to being what it always was, a smokers den for my dad and a few friends. Lastly, it served as a welcome change of scene from the living room sofa where he lived out the remainder of his days.
While there are many things I could say about the recent loss of my father, I decided to let pictures do the talking. So here is my ode to the garage, a place that speaks volumes about his character and personality and made for a fascinating photo project too.