365 Details was a year-long photo project I started on January 1, 2018, and ended on December 31st. Similar to 2016’s 366 Things I Love, 365 Details also required the rigor of creating a photo each day. I posted the photos to Tumblr and Instagram.
Since much of my landscape and architecture work shows immense scale, I thought it would be good for me to learn to shoot another way: by directing my camera at the small details in life.
The rules of the project were simple: each photo had to be posted on the day that it was taken, meaning that I couldn’t work ahead.
When I started this project, I didn’t realize the enormous changes that I would see over the course of 2018. I was diagnosed with a very rare disease and spent 5 days in the hospital. Both of my parents passed away in the span of two weeks. I finally located my birth father, only to find out that he had also just passed away. Our 19-year-old cat had to be put to sleep. In so many ways, 2018 was a year of loss.
The year was also filled with many positive things, not least of which was the love and support of my family and friends, who sent flowers, baked casseroles, visited me in the hospital, attended funerals, and made it known that I could lean on them whenever I needed them. I am privileged in many ways, especially when it comes to my social safety net.
And in the background of all the ups and downs of 2018, there was this project; every day I would have to find a detail to photograph. Having a routine of shooting a photo every day turned out to be a metaphor of how life continues, and so must we, despite anything and everything. It seemed strange to be focusing on the small details of life when all these big things were happening, but it often turned out to be a life raft in a sea of emotions. I would be leaving the nursing home where my parents were, and in the parking lot I would find a pretty flower, reminding me that even amidst sadness, there is always beauty to be discovered and appreciated.
Loss is a strange thing. It is universal, part of our shared human experience, but it is also intensely personal. It’s like love in that respect.
