You Will Come Back

Angelika Gad

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Angelika Gad

All Works

IN,

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Angelika Gad

The photographic series "You will come back soon" is an observation of my closest family after the death of my father. While shooting, I focused on everyday life. I was interested in how each of us deals with grief, what do we do? I documented immersion in the seemingly unwavering rhythm of everyday life, where the previously imposed routine became a means of survival.

While working on the series, I also created a photography book of the same title.

I took the book's title from a quote my father told me when I was away on a student exchange. He told me, "You'll be back soon." I returned a week after my trip to Italy, for his funeral.

The story was presented through:

A photobook published in a limited edition of four copies under the auspices of the Faculty of Art at the Pedagogical University in Kraków. The photobook was created in collaboration with mentor Michał Łuczak, Anna Zabdyrska, and Beata Długosz.
A multimedia exhibition, prepared with the PictureDoc foundation as part of creating a platform for young creators and a mentoring collaboration with Agata Grzybowska.
A group exhibition as part of the Erasmus Plus program at the GabaYoung gallery in Macerata, Italy.

Date:

Oct 2020

Curator:

You Will Come Back

(...) Dad passed and he took everything with him. His death started the collapse of the place I always returned to. Our village is currently undergoing a time of overgrowth and changes. I am too. The fields behind my house have been plowed because there is no one to cultivate them. The strawberry plantation that had grown in these fields all my life was plowed. In February, my brother scrapped the car I bought with my dad. The tree that always grew on the bend was cut down.

(...) Little, red spider-like marks started to appear on Dad's hands and body. Initially, there weren't many of them. We could even cover them with a flannel shirt. Later, they turned into extensive ecchymosis. I read somewhere that chestnut ointment can help. I smeared it on my dad's hands, and I could see hope in his eyes. He was ashamed of these ecchymoses. They were a sign of illness, and he was not one to show weakness. Applying the ointment did not give me hope- rather, it confirmed the belief that it would not help, that it was an irreversible process- the reason I did it was because, above all, my Dad still had hope.

(…) Those absent in the physical sense always appear in metaphysical phenomena. In the crack between the doors. Behind closed eyelids. In places familiar to us. They move very quietly, gently brushing against the curtain. They bathe in the sunlight. Blow dust off the wardrobe. Remind us that it’s time to clean. They are here.

(…)It's the first of December. Our dreams are freezing under the blanket. Spring will come soon, but not the one we know.

(...) This project gathers the entirety of my grief, giving voice to the storm of emotions I have endured. It is a story of losing someone dear, of the deep scars that loss carves into the soul, and of the silent ripples it sends through the world around us. It is also a tender ode to the childhood I long for—a time now distant, yet achingly close in memory.

Angelika Gad

angelika.k.cebula@gmail.com

Angelika Gad

angelika.k.cebula@gmail.com

Angelika Gad