My father

Seven years ago i realized that I had never taken a good picture of my father. I was ashamed, because I have been photographing all my life – doing projects in places like Cuba or West Bank - but I have never photographed the person who had been right in front of me since I was born. From that day on, I started to take pictures everywhere - every time I visited him. I even photographed him when he lost his beloved wife for almost 70 years. I can still remember standing there in front of him sitting next to the coffin, while I was struggling with my feelings: Paal, you can’t take pictures of this sacred moment! But I did – I had too. Because this was also a part of his life – loosing people around him. My father died two years ago – 98 years old. Up until three months ago I always printed the photos in B/W – maybe as a way of keeping a distance – to seeing him getting older and loosing him bit by bit. Today it has to be in colour. He is gone – but I have this wonderful document.