Who is suffering?

At some point in the life of a family assaulted by dementia in one of its many forms, this question may emerge in a rare moment of clarity. While the loss of mental acuity and the capacity to both recall and comprehend one’s own life appear to devastate the family member who primarily suffers them, as their personality dissolves so does their capacity for sustained comprehension of their predicament. As one person gradually disappears, only those left behind fully experience their loss.

This is the truth of Cameron McLeod’s The Cricket’s Song, a photo essay focusing on the last weeks of the photographer’s father’s life, but looking back to reveal a history of loss covering three generations. While Cameron’s father, Blain, is the principal subject here, both Cameron and his mother, Jayne, appear as well. And Blain’s father, Kenneth, is present in the form of typescripts of his poetry, including the poem that gave this essay its title. Considerable attention is given to certain specifics, including scenes set in western Michigan, where the family resided when the depicted events occurred. Both the elder men were victims of Parkinson’s, a particularly cruel disease, the progress of which cannot be reliably predicted. And while the artist says nothing about this, he is documenting not only his grandfather’s and father’s fates, but very possibly anticipating his future as well.

These bits of family history add specifics to the universally experienced loss that the images convey. Anyone whose family has been devastated in this way is likely to have regrets about not having made or set aside records that would help in recalling and explaining what was lost. By the time what’s happening is clear, it’s already too late. The Cricket’s Song illustrates the story for them and for us. For those who may not yet have experienced this tragedy, the postures and expressions captured here convey the powerful impact of loss that they may yet come to know in person.

From the text, we learn that Cameron McLeod trained in health science and initially worked, appropriately enough, with diseases of the heart. In time, he left that career for one in photography, in particular focusing on “mountain culture and adventurous mountain pursuits.” This pivotal essay may be the one thing that connects his earlier concerns and his present life. In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Antony unforgettably says, “If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.” That sentiment might be posted at the door to this exhibition.

Cameron McLeod: The Cricket’s Song, Finch Lane Gallery, Salt Lake City, through October 31.

All images courtesy of the author.

Geoff Wichert

Geoff Wichert objects to the term critic. He would rather be thought of as a advocate on behalf of those he writes about.