This is the image that embodies my son Manus. He has an intense fascination with doors, almost to the point of obsession. When he was younger, he would wear these little yellow suits and shuffle around, earning him the nickname “space man.” Manus has always been in his own world, and it brings him immense joy. That’s the key ingredient.
I reside on a farm in the west of Ireland, on my husband’s family homestead. Horses have always been a part of our lives, so we have a few small, old stables. In this picture, Manus is approximately six and a half years old, and although he’s now almost 10, I could easily capture the same image today. He still gravitates towards that spot and wants to play with the door of the washing machine.
Manus’s disability was apparent from the moment he was born, and I quickly recognized it. I spend many late and lonely nights walking around the yard with him, hoping to tire him out so he can go to sleep. Our life indoors is incredibly challenging. It is both beautiful and amazing, but also incredibly difficult.
Equestrian therapy is often deemed beneficial for children with disabilities, but that’s not the case for Manus. He is more interested in the washing machine door than the horse. Opening and closing doors are central to his intense obsessions and rigid routines. The horse in the image seems intrigued, almost as if it’s asking, “What on earth is happening here?”
The background elements in the photo, such as the washing powder, numnahs, horse blankets, and pitchfork, come and go. I always carry my trusty 35mm camera with me, and this particular shot was captured on instinct. While I have always favored large format photography, I had to adapt for this project to ensure the safety of my child. Now, I shoot with a DSLR and a standard 50mm lens.
One of the earliest images I took in this series depicts me, pregnant with Manus. At that time, I was grieving the idea of never being able to photograph again. With three children already, I believed my photography career was on the decline. However, a few years after Manus’s birth, I had to give myself a push and remind myself to capture the moments of our family life. Thankfully, the kids are understanding and don’t ask me to stop. The shots flow naturally, without excessive setup. I also delve into the challenges siblings face when growing up with a disabled child. They are true heroes.
I studied photography in Newport, Wales, but my passion for taking pictures predates my university education. My grandfather, Tommy Tuck, was an image maker in Connemara. He had a small darkroom in his basement while running a fishing tackle shop. I loved the juxtaposition of his dual passions.
I have an uncle named Owen in Connemara who often visits me. He is in his 50s and has Down’s syndrome. Owen lives independently in the city with assistance and is gender fluid. He and Manus share a deep bond. They can sit together, gazing into each other’s eyes for extended periods of time, a connection Manus doesn’t have with anyone else. They possess a special understanding.
Inclusion is a term tossed around casually these days. However, for someone who thrives on personal space and time for reflection, excessive inclusion can feel suffocating.
Lorraine Tuck’s CV
Born: Connemara, County Galway, 1978.
Trained: Self-taught in the darkroom at home after borrowing an old enlarger from my secondary school’s Science lab. I earned a BA Hons in Documentary Photography from the University of Wales, Newport, graduating in 2003.
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