In late March of this year, with the world going in to lockdown in the wake of the developing COVID-19 pandemic, all my employment ceased abruptly and I became the full time carer for our 19 month old son Vincent.
To allow my wife the space to be able to work from home in our small flat, each day Vinnie and I would make the short drive to Callan Park in Sydneys inner west. On the second day he found an empty plastic box and began to push it.
Wed see very few people as we roamed the grounds of the 61 hectare preserve, a disused insane asylum of parkland and mostly abandoned buildings. At the same time as feeling disconnected from the world beyond the borders of the site, my bond grew ever stronger with my son. As we explored this beautiful, eerie landscape with such rich history, Vinnie with his box in tow, I became deeply enamoured with the place.
At a certain point, whilst pondering about what had become something of an obsession, both his and mine, I started to question my mental faculties. It occurred to me that the box had become a symbol of sorts and that perhaps my son in these photographs was a proxy for myself.
This is Our Box.
