![]() “At the start of the year, I felt like my career was just taking off,” they told me. people, many of whom Glazzard had met while shooting a series from 2018, “Queer Letters,” in which they captured their subjects alongside notes to their younger selves.īefore the coronavirus pandemic, Glazzard had been shooting regularly for the British magazine i-D and had done their first editorial for Vogue Italia. They had a kind of family in the city to look after: a community of young L.G.B.T.Q. Glazzard, who uses the pronouns “they” and “them,” is from Yorkshire, in the north of England, but, when the pandemic arrived in the U.K., they decided to stay in London with their girlfriend, Nora. Take the recent work of Heather Glazzard, a twenty-five-year-old artist based in London, who has been taking remote portraits of their friends using FaceTime. “In fact, my pictures show me how much I’ve lost.” It’s a powerful compulsion-to take photographs of our loved ones in order to hold them close-and it hasn’t gone away during these months when we cannot physically be together. “I used to think that I could never lose anyone if I photographed them enough,” she wrote. By the time of her writing, many of her subjects had died of AIDS. In the book “ Couples and Loneliness,” from 1999, Nan Goldin reflects on the years she spent taking pictures of her friends, a band of queer couples, drag queens, and misfit artists who inhabited downtown Manhattan in the nineteen-seventies and eighties.
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