Patricia Carr Morgan had done two prior series using photography. Here, with this series she actually didn’t go to the Antarctic with the idea of doing a photographic series. When Carr Morgan arrived, “I was swept off my feet. It looked like nothing I had ever seen before.” She marvels. Going out in a zodiac, she had the opportunity to create a lot of photographs, and go on many hikes. “I had a thousand pictures of penguins.” She laughs. Besides those, her excursions also resulted in photographs at sea, going through the small gorges with the clouds and the fog. The idea of clean and sharp photography seemed impossible since all the photographs were taken either from the ship or the zodiac and 90% of the time, taken while  in motion. “In Antarctica, I was overwhelmed by the scale of unending whiteness. It was intimidating and dangerous, but it was also the most sublime piece of earth I had ever seen. I headed for Greenland to see more. I see now–everything is not fine.” Carr Morgan then started to describe the glaciers leaving the earth inching their way to the sea, crevices opening into their depth, glaciers cracking and crashing into the sea. She also remembers the sounds: a certain swell, and then only a whisper as the ice floats away, disappearing into the warming sea. When she went home and started working through all the photographs, it was clear that it was her next project. “It really was like making a good friend.” She says. Patricia then started a process she never really tried before. She printed the photographs in colour. Then, she repeated the same process but in black and white, she quickly realized that through this process she was continuously learning more about them. That’s why Patricia describes it as making a friend. She kept exploring and learning more. “The whole time I was working on it I kept thinking ‘How do I express the fragility and abuse. How do I manage this to really tell the story and talk about how I’m feeling about these, the sense of loss and awe?’” Ice has the power to carve through mountains, to create prairies and lakes, but its strength diminishes as the glaciers melt. Knowing that what she had documented was gradually disappearing made her art both more urgent and poignant. Her sense of impending loss intensified as she experimented—with realism and abstraction, with materials and processes—to express her feelings and concerns. Carr Morgan experimented a lot: printing them on 25 different papers, Japanese paper and fine art paper, to find the right medium, painting on them with coal was the next step while remaining thoughtful about the emotion of the gesture, what it meant and how it was applied. “That was just one step of abuse, but there the image was still whole. When I got back into my darkroom, I re-photographed my prints with expired abused film and I never knew what was the expected result. In a way I felt like it was as appropriate as a scientist telling us what’s going to happen, it’s diminishing, but we don’t know how fast and things keep happening that scientists don’t really expect and they’re getting more data and it’s ever-changing.” I love you don’t leave me, is a plea like a universal loss. It starts with the beauty of nature, the fragility, the delicacy and then it begins disintegrating, as a continual loss. “The more I work with the material, the more I feel the loss. It’s like watching a good friend fighting an illness.” Patricia keeps speaking about this series in a personal way but it is clear that it’s the kind of impact it had on her. This title is a plea, it’s not angry, let’s care for this.