For sixty-four years, my eighty-six-year-old father’s photographic lens has traced the contours of the Dee Valley, photographically documenting a landscape that has become as much a part of him as his own reflection.

This project recontextualizes his archival imagery—photographs taken from similar vantage points over decades— to explore the narrowing aperture of his world as he faces the onset of blindness.

I use the visual vocabulary of the Dee valley—the heavy river mists, the shifting light on the valley floor, and the recurring veil of fog—as metaphors for the physical and cognitive erosion of age.
The “liminal veil,” once a seasonal weather pattern in his work, now represents the thickening cataracts of his vision; the river, once a symbol of continuity, now mirrors the fluid, slipping nature of memory.
In these works, I position myself within his shadow—the daughter-as-observer. By layering his historic clarity against the obscured reality of his present, I aim to capture the quiet, heartbreaking transition from documenter to the documented.

As the world he once captured in sharp detail dissolves into mist, I am left to navigate the silhouettes of a man and a valley that are both, in their own way, receding into the white veil of light.