in memory of mel clark / bremerton, washington

An old acquaintance of mine, and fellow film lover, recently asked that I photograph her dad’s workshop and some of his handiwork, in the aftermath of his passing just a few months prior. I knew going into it that this would be a heavy task, but was ill prepared for the feeling of walking into his space and knowing that each & every object in his shop, whether mundane or magnificent, was touched by him; which in turn, made each & every object in his shop, special. Magical, even. I took great care to not disturb anything as best as I could… I understood that so many things in this shop were last touched, last moved, by the hands of Mel Clark, and that even each speck of dust that lifted & resettled around me was a shared experience between him and me.

I photographed his shop, and then we drove to her house so that I could photograph the darkroom that they had built together. It was a thing of beauty, and I couldn’t help but think of how proud he was to be there with her, passing on his love of creating to one of his greatest creations, and great love, of his life.

I never got to meet Mel, but I learned about him in immense & subtle ways that otherwise elude me when people are smiling directly, expectantly, into my camera. His tiny shop, small and meticulous, held bits & bobs for his many projects; including his love of miniature ship-building, one of which I could read the notes on from when he started it in 1987 through to his very last entry on it in 2020. 580 pieces on that one ship. He saved things with purpose, even that of which was not obvious to most others, and it was clear that he was a man of purpose. He collected with fervor, he created with intention, and he loved his family with a fierceness that perhaps showed itself passively or with passion… that I will never know, but just from knowing his daughter and meeting his wife, it’s clear that Mel’s love for his family was what held the most value for him in this world.

The weight of preserving the memories of others is never lost on me, and I aim to never take that privilege for granted. However, every so often, I come face to face with a job that will challenge that privilege to its very core… and these photos were the ultimate reminder of this monumental task.

When I make photos for myself and for my clients, I do it with the knowledge that my photos will live on in ways that we, unfortunately, cannot. Taking photos of Mel’s work made me think of Michael, of Michael’s dad, and of my own dad… all men who love to make messes and drive their families crazy. I thought about the many times that I’ve complained to or made fun of Michael and all the space he inhabits with his many things that to me just seem like “things.” And now I think of Mel, and how as a husband and a father, he inhabited the space around him in a way that lived on… the projects finished & unfinished, the imprints of his hands pressed into his favorite tools after decades of use, the dust of his art, and literally, of his skin and of his hair, moving in slow swaths in the same air he once breathed. And I think of his family, and how not only do they love the memory of him, but how every tangible memory that he left behind is enough to create pause. His wife and his daughter would often pick something up, hold it, and say, “I just need a second with this.” I think about the things that we leave behind, and how not even one tiny atom is too insignificant for our loved ones to hold space for enough to say, You were here.

Dedicated to Mel Clark. A loving family man of purpose, talent, and creativity.