Photographs & Words by Kurniadi Widodo

I was on the way home from shooting in Boko temple last Saturday when Pipi called me, asking whether I was able to go immediately to the home of my former architecture lecturer. His youngest daughter just passed away that morning, and I was asked to help documenting the funeral. I never did it before, but I really couldn't say no.

It wasn't a neat experience, to say the least. I didn't go there in hope of nailing some good frames or anything. I went there simply because... it seemed to be the only right thing to do at that moment. I got there before the family of the deceased came home from the hospital. Saw some familiar faces. Started shooting. It wasn't until the family came that it all suddenly became too weird for me. Those grieving faces. And there I was with a camera in hand, supposed to shoot the scene. I wouldn't be surprised if someone saw me that day thought of me as an insensitive asshole.

I wonder whether knowing the people made it easier or harder for me.

Perhaps it didn't even matter.

And this reminds me of those war photographers. I just shoot the loss of a person. They, on the other hand, may shoot the grief of an entire nation. How would that feel?

I wouldn't share many photos like usual.

Just this one.