Father's Day · Artist Feature

What Do Fathers Leave Behind? — Sadiq Y. Al-Harasi

This Father's Day, Yemeni photographer Sadiq Y. Al-Harasi shares What Do Fathers Leave Behind? — a project that reconstructs the memory of a father lost at age eleven, through family archives, cyanotypes, mountain landscapes, and the voice of a mother who has become the guardian of his legacy.

By Nathaniel Enriquez June 22, 20263 min read
A photograph of my father's portrait resting among dried leaves. An analog photograph captures my mother, sister Ghufran, and nephew Qusai sitting together in our house. Qusai, my nephew, crying in my mother's arms. A blurred photograph of a photo from the family archive, for my brother Khalil and me. The image prompts me to contemplate the nature of identity: when past experiences blur into the present, who do we become when our past slips between presence and absence? A diptych of my parents using the cyanotype technique. On the right is my father's latest image, a year before he died; on the left is an old formal picture of my mom. A photograph from the family archive captures my father standing with me and my siblings in Jabal Saber, Taiz, in 2004. My mother embracing my brother Khalil with a heartfelt hug, after five long years of migration. My mom stands behind the window, leaning on it. My father's village, shrouded in mist, a haunting reminder of the absence, a constant chill in the landscape of my memories. A group of birds soaring above a foggy mountain in my father's village (Bani Al-Harasi).
ماذا يترك الآباء خلفهم؟

There are photographs that preserve memory, and there are photographs that search for it.

For Yemeni photographer Sadiq Y. Al-Harasi, photography became a way of searching for a father he lost at the age of eleven. Left with only a small family album containing fewer than fifty photographs, many without his father in them, he found himself trying to reconstruct a life from fragments. Images alone could not provide the answers he longed for. Instead, those answers emerged through stories, places, songs, and the quiet persistence of memory.

A photograph from the family archive captures my father standing with me and my siblings in Jabal Saber, Taiz, in 2004.
A photograph from the family archive captures my father standing with me and my siblings in Jabal Saber, Taiz, in 2004.

His project, What Do Fathers Leave Behind?, is both deeply personal and universally resonant. It asks a question that many of us eventually confront. What remains of someone after they are gone?

The project unfolds through two complementary chapters.

Archive

Archive brings together the photographs, official documents, certificates, and personal records left behind by his father. Together they reveal glimpses of a life lived, from literacy classes to administrative work at Sana'a University, from moments of ambition to traces of everyday existence. These materials become more than historical evidence. They become emotional artifacts, allowing Sadiq to encounter his father through the objects that outlived him.

A diptych of my parents using the cyanotype technique. On the right is my father's latest image, a year before he died; on the left is an old formal picture of my mom.
A diptych of my parents using the cyanotype technique. On the right is my father's latest image, a year before he died; on the left is an old formal picture of my mom.
A blurred photograph of a photo from the family archive, for my brother Khalil and me. The image prompts me to contemplate the nature of identity: when past experiences blur into the present, who do we become when our past slips between presence and absence?
A blurred photograph of a photo from the family archive, for my brother Khalil and me. The image prompts me to contemplate the nature of identity: when past experiences blur into the present, who do we become when our past slips between presence and absence?

Memory

In Memory, the search becomes more intimate.

Unable to rely solely on photographs, Sadiq turns toward landscapes, family members, friends, and the stories passed down by his mother. She becomes the guardian of his father's legacy, carrying memories that bridge the distance between father and son. Through her songs, recollections, and sacrifices, she preserves a man her children would otherwise struggle to remember.

My mom stands behind the window, leaning on it.
My mom stands behind the window, leaning on it.
My mother embracing my brother Khalil with a heartfelt hug, after five long years of migration.
My mother embracing my brother Khalil with a heartfelt hug, after five long years of migration.
An analog photograph captures my mother, sister Ghufran, and nephew Qusai sitting together in our house.
An analog photograph captures my mother, sister Ghufran, and nephew Qusai sitting together in our house.
Qusai, my nephew, crying in my mother's arms.
Qusai, my nephew, crying in my mother's arms.

As Sadiq photographs the village his father once called home, the landscapes he inherited without fully belonging to, and his own face growing increasingly similar to his father's, he discovers that memory is never singular. It is shared, reshaped, and carried collectively across generations.

My father's village, shrouded in mist, a haunting reminder of the absence, a constant chill in the landscape of my memories.
My father's village, shrouded in mist, a haunting reminder of the absence, a constant chill in the landscape of my memories.
A group of birds soaring above a foggy mountain in my father's village (Bani Al-Harasi).
A group of birds soaring above a foggy mountain in my father's village (Bani Al-Harasi).

At the same time, the project becomes a portrait of his mother.

In telling her husband's story, she reveals her own. Having left behind her own history to build a life with him, she finds herself existing between identities, holding tightly to fragments of the person she once was while ensuring that her children never lose sight of the man they lost. Through her voice, Sadiq realizes that his search for his father is inseparable from understanding his mother.

The resulting work moves beyond autobiography. It becomes an exploration of grief, inheritance, identity, and belonging. It asks how we construct an archive when memories are incomplete, and how photography can visualize someone who is no longer physically present.

Rather than offering definitive answers, What Do Fathers Leave Behind? invites viewers to reflect on their own relationships with fathers, with family histories, and with the traces people leave behind after they depart. It reminds us that inheritance is rarely measured in possessions alone. It exists in stories retold across dinner tables, in songs sung years later, in familiar expressions reflected in a child's face, and in the landscapes that continue to call us home.

This Father's Day, Sadiq's work serves as a poignant reminder that photographs are not only records of what once existed. They can also become acts of remembrance, rebuilding connections where absence once seemed impossible to bridge.