I started this series in the winter of 2021, the first full winter season of Covid 19. My province, like many others, was in lockdown to minimize the spread of the disease; most social activities with people not in one’s immediate bubble were discouraged.
I became acutely aware of how silent my world had become, and how solitary. This was not unwelcome, or depressing. I noticed qualities of light and space that had gone unremarked in my previous, busy life; they took on a presence which was companionable, and strangely comforting. The silence, the sunlight, the stillness, the dog: calm and reassuring.
But by the winter of 2022, when a new variant of Covid 19 required another round of lockdowns, I was less sanguine about my situation. This time I was truly alone; my dog Mollie, had died the previous June. Rousing myself out of bed, finding ways to occupy my time: it all felt so pointless, and defeating. I was broken. And when I turned to my camera to capture my solitary world the images that I produced were much darker.
Confined to home, confined mostly to a single room, the space became restrictive and narrowed. The glimpses of light offered a faint glimmer of hope that this period of darkness would eventually pass.