Ingrid + Oma, Personal Photographic Journal, December, 2016.
This is a personal account of my visit back to Australia for the first time in 5 years since I moved to Canada. There, I visited my German mother + Oma on their derelict farm in rural Victoria.
In December, 2016 I flew home to Australia for the first time in nearly 5 years in search of home to dance with some of my closet skeletons.
When I left in 2012 I had ended a relationship, my father had passed away months prior and there was conflict between myself and many people I loved due to the stories I was writing whilst majoring in non fiction at university.
I escaped to Canada to start a new life with my partner and didn't really plan on looking back.
This year I have been thinking of home more than usual, asking myself 'Where do I come from? Where are my roots?' I had avoided home for so long because I felt the need to forget Australia to integrate into Canada. But now I understand how important it is to remember.
As a photographer, in a world saturated with photoshopped faces and faked emotion I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that I had become stuck in a rat race of chasing the unattainable that has become the photography industry. I had stopped photographing my real life and had become so preoccupied with capturing pretty things and people.
I decided to fly home to shake some sense into myself, to remember where I came from and to repair relationships, to reconnect to the desert, the heat and my mother tongue.
I was raised in a rural ghost town in Australia by two German immigrants, my mum and oma. My dad Ben Silckerodt was an established erotic oil painter who smoked too many cigarettes and drank too much whiskey, eventually killing him in 2011. My mum Ingrid Maschek is a seamstress and retired leather designer who still lives on our family property with my oma, Rosa, who helped raise me. Rosa speaks but two words in English and spends her days tending to the chickens and preserving plums.
They now live in solitude together, keeping each other company. The heritage building that they call home is covered in art by my father and my sisters, whom are also painters. It may be falling apart, held together by paint and super glue, but it's still standing. Built in 1863, it was originally a tinsmith.
This album contains it all - the unimportant and the very important. When I go through personal experiences I have to document it, to make the experience a tangible thing.
rock n roll