Artist Katherine Hubbard began noticing changes in her mother, Antonette Berger, in 2020, during the height of the Covid-19 pandemic. Hubbard described the initial observations as subtle, stating, “It was impossible at the time to say what I was noticing, but something was off.”
Berger, who lived alone in Philadelphia, was later diagnosed with LATE (limbic-predominant age-related TDP-43 encephalopathy). This condition presents symptoms similar to Alzheimer’s but involves a slower progression of memory and daily functional decline. Hubbard, speaking from New York via Zoom, characterized the diagnostic process as “a painful, drawn-out and confusing process – then a feeling of so much grief, so much loss.”
As Hubbard found herself in the demanding role of a caretaker, she chose to photograph her housebound mother and their surroundings. She explained her approach, noting, “The camera fails us in so many ways, and the absurdity with dementia is that I was constantly making lots of images of things that can’t be shown in an image. But I make images because of how they feel, not how they look.”
For five years, Hubbard kept two vintage Polaroid cameras and other equipment set up in her mother’s Germantown apartment. These deeply personal images form the seriesThe Great Roomalso published as a book titledOne Fifty Onenamed after the house’s street number. Photographs and installations fromThe Great Roominspired by Berger’s apartment, are currently featured in Hubbard’s solo exhibition at Studio Voltaire in London. The frustration, the loss – and feel a kind of acceptance, and ultimately, love, the cameras have helped her come to terms with the anger.
The apartment depicted in the photographs is part of a large, dilapidated building that Berger owned and rented out for four decades. This property, located at 151, was a significant part of Hubbard’s childhood, often visited due to Berger’s many tenants. Hubbard recalled it as a “community centre” with constant activity. The exhibition’s titleThe Great Roomcomes from Berger’s own description of the apartment’s main living area. Dilapidated building Berger owned and rented out for 40 years, the apartment that appears in the photographs belongs to a huge. 151 formed an important part of Hubbard’s upbringing and early imaginary – they would regularly visit Berger’s many tenants there, “it was kind of like a community centre, there were always people around, complaining abo.
Hubbard described her mother as “incredibly headstrong, eccentric, and difficult – she’s completely her own person.” Their daily routine involved domestic tasks and gradually packing the apartment as Berger prepared to move to a care facility.
Some of the photographic scenes possess a theatrical quality. Hubbard once created a stage for her mother using “a set of rotting 1960s mirror doors I found in the garage that I thought were stunning and built them on to stands, so she could roll them around.” Mirrors became a crucial element, allowing Hubbard to project herself into the images, thereby altering the power dynamics of the camera and ensuring her mother was never alone in the frame. These reflections evoke a sense of transition and loss, capturing images on the verge of disappearing and confronting the pain of brain disease.
Berger often dominates the images with a commanding presence, illuminated by majestic light within her grand and rambling home. Hubbard noted a point where both she and her mother became unaware of the cameras, no longer seeing themselves as images. The presence of the cameras and the time dedicated to photography provided interruptions during an otherwise “brutal, demanding time that was not pleasant.”
The photographic process introduced moments of lightness and playfulness into their challenging daily lives. Hubbard explained, “I could ask my mum to engage with me in a way I never would have if I hadn’t been making the photographs.”
This engagement extended to creating body prints together in the darkroom. Hubbard described the process as “weird and hard to make.” They would go to the darkroom in the mornings when Berger had energy, getting naked and covered in Vaseline to use their bodies as printing tools on photo paper. This “performance in darkness” was highly choreographed, with careful attention to Berger’s safety while getting onto and off the floor and paper.
A notable challenge was Berger’s dislike for Vaseline, which she found “suffocating.” However, when Hubbard questioned her willingness, Berger would respond, “of course I’ll do it, are you stupid? You think I can’t do it just because I don’t like it!”
Hubbard emphasized that she does not view Berger as a collaborator due to the complexities of consent with dementia. Instead, she focused on Berger’s willingness and her own responsibility to respect her mother’s known personality and limitations. The 4×8 ft contact prints symbolize the physical connection between mother and daughter, a private darkroom performance where their bodies’ texture and movement are preserved on silver gelatin, even as Berger’s internal world underwent radical change.
These camera-less prints are seen by Hubbard as a “bridge to something more psychic, more energetic” between them, offering a different form of representation than traditional portrait photography. They convey a simultaneous sense of freedom, letting go, and holding on.
Hubbard also took over the management of the building at 151, inheriting issues such as squirrels and raccoons living in the walls and broken basement pumps. She described this period as “an insane time – I had a lot of anger towards my mum – I felt it was irresponsible not to have told me about the extent of the problems.”
Despite the changes, Hubbard could still perceive her mother as she had always been in the photographs. She reflected, “I wonder how early the disease really started, when her reality shifted, and I’ll never get the answers.” The exhibitionKatherine Hubbard – The Great Roomruns at Studio Voltaire, London, from October 7 until January 10, 2027.
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