In the late 60s my Father had a mild obsession with Super-8. I say mild, because his severe OCDs were multiple and complex, which made daily life quite a performance, although oddly, from my childish eyes his unusual rituals were quite normal. I remember him being rather posessive about his equipment and the filming ‘shoots’ and indeed, the same goes for his photography mini-obsession. Therefore, there are few images of him but lots of my Mother and the four of us.
The cine films were forgotten over the years but a couple of years ago they re-surfaced, my little sister, being the film editing supremo of the family, transferred the best of the Super-8 onto a DVD.
During a massive fit of box sorting at home the images and films have again, migrated via osmosis, from my long-term to short-term memory. So, I have bastardised the hour long DVD into 5 minutes of my favourite stills. My own distillation of childhood memories and importances. My Mother has never been aware of just how captivated I was by her as a young girl, I thought she was the most beautiful and glamourous lady in the world, I thought perhaps I should write that down somewhere. Or tell her maybe? My little brother was both ally and foe, playmate and tormentor in our quite reclusive but yet utterly magical playground. Apart from our holiday travels, we spent nearly all our childhood at home, so it’s a significant landscape for me.