Artist Statement

Henry was my brother, I never really knew him. He was 12 years older than me but in his mind never grew past the age of 2. My father came from a patrician Polish background and being unable to bear the low esteem he was held in by post war Scots, crossed the then impermeable iron curtain never to return. This left my mother with no option but to take a job as a bus conductress and to place Henry in the care of the state. This was especially painful to my mother as she had lost her entire family in the war (Hitler took some and Stalin the rest). That being said Henry was well cared for and was always happy, the only words he ever spoke were "Mummy" and "man in the moon". His chocolate brown eyes sparkled with happiness and he would make a noise which to my childish ears was exactly the same noise my guinea pig made when you stroked him. He lived a life of smiles until he was 33 at which point his body eventually gave up.

Bangour Hospital was built by the Victorians to care for people who were "insane and infirm". I have been told variously by ex staff members that it was the place that invented electroshock therapy, cared for burn victims and war wounded as well as the mentally or physically handicapped. It had a secure alcoholics ward and was the site for an apparent alien abduction in the 70's. It was closed in the 1990's. Since its closure, it has been left to the elements. To me it has now taken on the appearance of the patients it once cared for, it spoke to me of my brother and mother. Like the patients it too now desperately needs care, help and protection but only gets this by a security van that patrols the grounds once an hour and grass cutters every few weeks. It too is misunderstood. Photographing it, I understand the patients and place were not something to fear. They are misunderstood because of their shells, and lack of voice. This is my portrait of Bangour and its people that can't speak, that want you to look beyond what is just an exterior shell.