It’s been some time since we last talked to each other.
I’m turning 23 in a few weeks. Life has been passing me by, and it’s not looking like it’s going to slow down anytime soon. My health is good. I am no longer considered asthmatic. I stopped smoking and I no longer take medication. I have been getting good grades like I promised you I would. Life has been hard, but it’s been fair to me.
My memory doesn’t serve me well when it comes to you. It’s foggy, fragmented at best. The image of you is a collection of tales and sketches, told and shaped by others – in return shaping you: a man of great ambition and class. A man who enjoyed the finer things in life.
Wine. French chansons. Spanish guitars. A man that always got what he wanted.
Someone who was revered.
I admired you the same. For as long as I can remember I have looked up to you. I wanted so badly to be like you when I was younger. I remember watching you dancing and singing on stage, and I’d go home and stand in the middle of my room with my eyes closed, envisioning myself doing the same.
I wanted to be you.
I see now that it’s much more complicated than that. I no longer aspire to be like you. It’s undeniable – I am you.
We share the same blood. The same name.
I bear no grudges towards you, my dear Grandpa. But the seed you planted so many years ago has grown. And it became mine to water and care for.
The past should have never been my weight to carry. So tell me why my shoulders are aching.
I think back to the day it all went wrong. I think about how cold it was. I think of you, Mom, Dad, and Max.
I think about how I cried that night. Just like when I was young. Shaking and shivering underneath my bed sheets. Sweating and heaving. I think about home and how far away it all seems. An unbearable distance.
Standing here, where you once stood, I see my reflection in all your mistakes and missteps. I feel the pull of something forbidden, the thrill of the chase, and the subsequent guilt.
This is not mine. I rebuke these shackles.
Tomorrow morning I will bury the hatchet. I will lay you to rest.
I finally understand now. How it all came to be. How it all came crashing down.
I have seen her, Grandpa. Just like you did.
23:48
211 Smith St, Elora 13/04/2024
My Sweet Elora
In the late autumn of 1970, my grandfather disappeared without a trace. No one knew why he left, or where to. Three months passed before he returned. He offered no explanation for his absence.
53 years later, the repercussions revealed themselves. My father had an affair and left my family fractured.
“Where did it all go wrong?’’ I asked myself. In need of answers, I dove into the family archives. Within them, I found a lead that shone a light upon my grandfather’s secrets.
My search led me to Elora, Canada – a small, quiet village 115 kilometres outside of the city of Toronto. There, my grandfather had an affair with an unknown young lady while my grandmother awaited his return. This is where it all began.
Seeing my reflection in the mistakes of both my father and grandfather, I decided not to let history repeat itself again. The promise I made to myself prompted me to travel to Elora three times within the span of a year.
My Sweet Elora is a collection of photographs of both the past and present Elora. The aim is to dissect the complicated nature of family dynamics. It is an ongoing formulation of personal identity and self perception within the context of a family’s history. This study served as a personal exploration of the intergenerational trauma within my family and behavioural patterns, tracing the fault lines outward.
My Sweet Elora is a conversation between contemporary photography and archival material.
A conversation between what is and what was.
1
My grandfather’s affair
Elora, 1970
Family archives
Black and white negative
2
My grandfather
Elora, 1970
Family archives
Black and white negative
3
Map of Elora (enlarged)
Elora mill, date unknown
Courtesy of WCMA
4
Birthday party
Elora, 1970
Family archives
Black and white negative
My Sweet Elora is an on-going project by Luuk van Raamsdonk. First edition, self-published.
© Luuk van Raamsdonk, 2024
My Sweet Elora is an artist book and therefore does not reflect historic information, but rather interpretations and lived experiences.
Every effort has been made to contact copyright holders and to obtain their permission for the use of copyrighted material. If any infrigmentent has occured please contact the artist.
Photography by Luuk van Raamsdonk Images by the Wellington County Museum and Archives (Ontario), respectively.
Opening text with excerpt from poem “Elora” by Alexander-McLachlan. From The Songs and Poems Collection, 1874, sourced from the Wellington County Museum and Archives (Ontario).
Editing
Copy Editing
Graphic Design
Luuk van Raamsdonk
Justin Ugochukwu
Luna May Ouweneel
Julia Waraksa
Rey Mourad
Julia Waraksa
Printing Raddraaier, Amsterdam
Typefaces
Papers
Suisse BP Int’l, Suisse Works
Munken Pure Rough 120gsm
Gmund Slate Gray 175gsm
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying , recording or otherwise, without the prior permission from the artist.
With special thanks to
Mom, Dad, and Max for supporting me and believing in me and my artistic vision.
Patricia Gonzalez and her family for offering me a safe haven in Elora.
Anaïs Lopez
Angeniet Berkers
Annette Behrens
Archival team at WCMA
Ben Dickey
Bence Fay
Carson Hoos
Dranoel Jerome Macari
Daria Scagliola
Eliza-Sophie Sekrève
Emma Simon
Eva van Hees
Francien Janssen
Grayson Davy
Henk Janssen
Iris Maes
Joeri Ista
Julia Waraksa
Justin Ugochukwu
Leo Erken
Lisane van Happen
Luna May Ouweneel
Machteld van de Voorden
Magali Duzant
Marta Camagna
Maud Dinke van der Zalm
Natalia Jordanova
Noor Boiten
Remco de Vries
Rey Mourad
Rozemarijn Oudejans
Tjalling de Leeuw in ‘t Veld
And everyone who pre-orderd the book.
Made possible with the kind support of
Wellington County Museum and Archives
Cultuurfonds Noord Brabant
Communicatie Team
Patricia Hearst
I’d commune with Nature till death set me free, And rest then forever, Elora, in thee.