The Lightkeepers Quotes

“Trauma and pain are the foundations of art. I believe that. When tragedy strikes, however, a muralist or a watercolorist has the opportunity to be a human being in the moment and an artist afterward. Faced with the death of a loved one, a sculptor or portraitist can first grieve, suffer, and heal--then create. Most artists go through life this way. They can react normally to the trials and tribulations of the human experience. They can pass through the world with compassion and comradeship. They can make their art later. Outside, elsewhere, beyond. But photography is immediate. It does not offer the luxury of time. Faced with blood, death, or transformation, a photographer has no choice but to reach for the camera. An artist first, a human being afterward. Photography is a neutral record of all events, a chronicle of things both sublime and terrible. By necessity, this work is made without emotion, without connection, without love.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“We may never know what another person is thinking--never truly get into anyone else's head--but photography brings us as close as anything can. When the members of an audience at an art gallery look at a picture, they can step for a moment inside the mind of the artist. Like telepathy. Like time travel. At some future date, when people gaze at my photographs of the islands, they will see what I saw. They will stand where I stood, on this granite, surrounded by this ocean. Perhaps they will even feel some of the elation I have experienced here.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“To remember is to rewrite. To photograph is to replace. The only reliable memories, I suppose, are the ones that have been forgotten. They are the dark rooms of the mind. Unopened, untouched, and uncorrupted.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“There is something fundamental in the desire to have a door to close, sealing out the rest of the world.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“They are not predators, and they are not prey. They exist outside of the food chain. In some ways, they exist outside normal space and time. they live in a realm of large, slow things-tides, storms, and magnetic currents. They often plunge into the inky depths of the ocean, down where the sunlight fails. They inhabit a blue world, away from land, dipping from water to air and back again, sliding between darkness and glow.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“Your death taught me what happens after love. I have no interest in reencountering that depth of loss. So”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“I am the artist, not the artwork. I do not want to fall into the trap of seeing myself from the outside. I don't care what I look like. It doesn't matter what I look like. It only matters how I look at the world.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“La più grande illusione dell'uomo era credere di essere al di fuori della natura, di non appartenere alla catena alimentare, di non essere un animale.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“I remember the long, sleepy mornings I spent at your side, watching the light shift through the stained glass. I remember those uncomfortable patent leather shoes. The rise and fall of the minister's voice. The pungent odor of floor wax. I remember the look on your face during services—elated, confident, as radiant as a bride. You would follow every word of the sermon, nodding in agreement like a student in class. You sang the hymns with gusto, your voice sweet but out of tune. Church was coal for the furnace of your mind...
...Back then, it bothered me that I did not share your conviction. I could not revel along with you. You prayed often, sitting with your face towards the sun, eyes closed...
...It gave me a squirmy feeling. Even then, I was in my father's camp all the way. The bible stories were silly. Sunday school was a bore. The sermons contradicted each other. Sitting in the quiet, sun-drenched church, I felt nothing, no power, no release. The hymns left my soul unmoved.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“I remember the long, sleepy mornings I spent at your side, watching the light shift through the stained glass. I remember those uncomfortable patent leather shoes, the rise and the fall of the minister's voice, the pungent odor of floor wax. I remember the look on your face during services, elated, confident, as radiant as a bride. You would follow every word of the sermon, nodding in agreement like a student in class. You sang the hymns with gusto, your voice sweet, but out of tune. Church was coal for the furnace of your mind...
...Back then it bothered me that I did not share your conviction, I could not revel along with you. You prayed often, sitting with your face towards the sun, eyes closed...
...It gave me a squirmy feeling. Even then I was in my father's camp, all the way. The bible stories were silly, Sunday school was a bore, the sermons contradicted each other. Sitting in the quiet sundrenched church I felt nothing. No power, no release. The hymns left my soul unmoved.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“But you died. That changed everything. Your death sent me skimming over the planet like a rock across a pond. A nomad. A lost soul.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers

“Ricordare significa riscrivere. Fotografare significa sostituire. Penso che gli unici ricordi affidabili siano quelli dimenticati. Sono la camera oscura della mente: intonsi, intatti, incontaminati.”
― Abby Geni, The Lightkeepers