A few years ago, I discovered that Tom Ellis Reeve — Papa Tom, Grandpa Reeve, or any of the other many names he went by — was a photographer. At the time, I had not the slightest clue of the magnitude of that statement. I had heard stories of international travels, birthday club parties, and national parks, but I had never seen anything he had shot. I was getting into photography myself, so the timing, as it turned out, was perfect.

Tom passed when I was nine. Between the desire to bring back my own childhood memories of him and better understand him and what I come from, I knew I wanted to dedicate real time to keeping his memory alive. So I reached out to his son to get a grasp of the scale of what Tom had captured during his 87 years of life. And believe me, it was a lot. But it wasn’t just the scale that was impressive. It was the consistency. The diligence. The meticulous note-taking behind each photo. The care placed in ordering each carousel. Frankly, I was blown away.

What I didn’t expect was how personal it would become. I’ve always wondered where my wanderlust came from, and it became wildly clear the moment I started seeing his trips across the world. I’ve always wondered where my curiosity and desire to try new things came from, and there it was, frame after frame. There were moments throughout the process where I felt Tom’s presence directly, but mainly what I felt was his laughter at my impatience in front of tens of thousands of slides. To be honest, I never really knew him. I have a few faint memories like swinging in the hammock in the backyard, playing ping pong on the green table in the basement, enjoying winter fires in the family room, and sneaking several orange gummy candies in the glass jar in the attic. But through these photos, I really got to know him. And through him, I learned a little more about myself.

Watching his photography develop from the 1940s through the years I was a small child made me smile. It was a quiet reminder that with anything, the more time and care you give something, the better you become. He was meticulous and diligent. And through that, he became a master at capturing the moment.

Along with "Life of Tom", I’ve been calling this project, “The Film He Left Behind” because that’s exactly what it is. A gift he left for us to uncover all these years later.

Over the last several months, I’ve had the privilege of bringing Tom’s collection of film slides out of their dusty carousels into a digital format, and I am so excited to be able to share what I’ve found with all of you.

With love,

Thomas