Ward Roberts was at New York's LaGuardia airport when he met his former partner, who worked in the airline industry. They fell in love quickly, but five months into the relationship, Ward found out his partner had pancreatic cancer—he'd known for some time, but of all the secrets to share with someone you're still getting to know, cancer seems unimaginably difficult.What followed was an all-consuming relationship between two people who were, in different ways, struggling to keep it all together. In the mess of it all, Ward took a series of photographs to make sense of things. Later, he called it Sicklove. When we met to talk about the series, Ward opened up about caregiving, depression, and how life is just really, really unfair sometimes.
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VICE: To begin, can you tell me about the man?
Ward Roberts: I met him within my first year in New York, having moved there from Melbourne in 2013 to set up a better life for myself. You know those kind of relationships where you meet and it's like, really fast, really intense? This was really fast paced. He had a magnetic personality. One of those people who was just incredibly fun and spontaneous. I think he liked that I was Australian. And he liked my hair. Probably somewhere around four, five months later, I found out he had cancer.That's a difficult thing to share with someone.
I think so. I mean, absolutely. You don't necessarily know someone all that well, it's still the beginnings of something. It was obviously a pretty intense thing to share with somebody.Was there ever a question of staying or leaving?
There were so many different avenues or options. It was a really hard decision. It's not necessarily about whether you stay or whether you go, it's more about making sure—first and foremost—that there's some level of support there, relationship or not. My head went to support. My mum's had breast cancer twice, so cancer to someone close to me isn't new. You just want to be as caring as possible: Be a positive, caring person, and do the right thing. I like to think I have a calming energy. My strength, I think, is to give people a space where they can just belong. I tried to do that as much as possible, but it's hard.
Ward Roberts: I met him within my first year in New York, having moved there from Melbourne in 2013 to set up a better life for myself. You know those kind of relationships where you meet and it's like, really fast, really intense? This was really fast paced. He had a magnetic personality. One of those people who was just incredibly fun and spontaneous. I think he liked that I was Australian. And he liked my hair. Probably somewhere around four, five months later, I found out he had cancer.That's a difficult thing to share with someone.
I think so. I mean, absolutely. You don't necessarily know someone all that well, it's still the beginnings of something. It was obviously a pretty intense thing to share with somebody.Was there ever a question of staying or leaving?
There were so many different avenues or options. It was a really hard decision. It's not necessarily about whether you stay or whether you go, it's more about making sure—first and foremost—that there's some level of support there, relationship or not. My head went to support. My mum's had breast cancer twice, so cancer to someone close to me isn't new. You just want to be as caring as possible: Be a positive, caring person, and do the right thing. I like to think I have a calming energy. My strength, I think, is to give people a space where they can just belong. I tried to do that as much as possible, but it's hard.
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Balancing caring for that person and caring for yourself—that's hard.
Yeah, I forgot about myself. I didn't think about myself at all. I wasn't a priority. And on top of it all, New York is incredibly expensive. It's not as if you can say, "Just rest and take the week off." No, it's relentless. It wasn't an option to take a break: He had to work while doing treatment because he needed to be able to keep his insurance. Still, he didn't have the energy to work, his job was very high capacity. But he kept working, because to do those procedures [uninsured] was, like, $100,000 or even more. I was barely earning enough money to support myself, let alone be a financial support to him. So there were all these little things like, he'd go to treatment but not be able to take a taxi back home. Or barely be able to afford food. He'd take bags of pretzels home from work for us to eat. We barely had rent covered.
Yeah, I forgot about myself. I didn't think about myself at all. I wasn't a priority. And on top of it all, New York is incredibly expensive. It's not as if you can say, "Just rest and take the week off." No, it's relentless. It wasn't an option to take a break: He had to work while doing treatment because he needed to be able to keep his insurance. Still, he didn't have the energy to work, his job was very high capacity. But he kept working, because to do those procedures [uninsured] was, like, $100,000 or even more. I was barely earning enough money to support myself, let alone be a financial support to him. So there were all these little things like, he'd go to treatment but not be able to take a taxi back home. Or barely be able to afford food. He'd take bags of pretzels home from work for us to eat. We barely had rent covered.
That's just not something we experience here in Australia.
Yeah, I couldn't believe it. I talked to lots of my friends about it, exasperated. I'd say, "He's used up all his sick days. He's going to lose his insurance if he doesn't continue to work." They just said, "Oh yeah, that sounds about right." They don't value human life [in America]. It sucks to be poor in America, I mean, you're barely human there. It really separates people. That in itself was so painful because I didn't have an answer, I didn't know how to fix the situation.
Yeah, I couldn't believe it. I talked to lots of my friends about it, exasperated. I'd say, "He's used up all his sick days. He's going to lose his insurance if he doesn't continue to work." They just said, "Oh yeah, that sounds about right." They don't value human life [in America]. It sucks to be poor in America, I mean, you're barely human there. It really separates people. That in itself was so painful because I didn't have an answer, I didn't know how to fix the situation.
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Really late one night he attempted to overdose ended up in the emergency room—one of the worst hospitals in Brooklyn. I was completely physically, emotionally exhausted. It was one of those days that keeps testing you. I remember there wasn't anywhere to sit and comfort him, there were no chairs nearby, so I tried to sit on the side of the bed. One of the police officers in the ward was like, "Get off the bed!" I felt so angry, trying to explain I just wanted to comfort him. I remember going up and asking for [the officer's] details, telling him I was going to report him. So he threatened to tase me. Just insane. It's so degrading, and so demoralising.
Tell me how the series came to be.
You know, obviously not being able to afford a therapist or anything like that, the series became my therapy. That was my thing of almost trying to like watch a situation through a barrier, because it felt like a movie. I've only seen emotions and situations like this happen in a movie. So I tried to view it like that. It didn't feel that real.Did the two of you talk about the fact you were taking these photographs? What were those conversations like?
He was really interested in being an actor, that was one of the things he's always wanted to do. I was like, "Well this, you know maybe we can kind of make this a little bit like stills from a movie-esque kind of thing." So I tried to view it a little bit like, this didn't really feel that real. That was where the series was my way of kind of trying to come to terms with what was actually going on, trying to find some way to explain this or understand the story. He didn't really like the photos being taken, I shot them on a large format camera so it was a very slow process. I asked him multiple times, "Do you want me to stop? I don't want to push the boundaries with something like this." But he was okay. He probably liked some element of it too.
You know, obviously not being able to afford a therapist or anything like that, the series became my therapy. That was my thing of almost trying to like watch a situation through a barrier, because it felt like a movie. I've only seen emotions and situations like this happen in a movie. So I tried to view it like that. It didn't feel that real.Did the two of you talk about the fact you were taking these photographs? What were those conversations like?
He was really interested in being an actor, that was one of the things he's always wanted to do. I was like, "Well this, you know maybe we can kind of make this a little bit like stills from a movie-esque kind of thing." So I tried to view it a little bit like, this didn't really feel that real. That was where the series was my way of kind of trying to come to terms with what was actually going on, trying to find some way to explain this or understand the story. He didn't really like the photos being taken, I shot them on a large format camera so it was a very slow process. I asked him multiple times, "Do you want me to stop? I don't want to push the boundaries with something like this." But he was okay. He probably liked some element of it too.
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How else did you try to cope?
Well, there are a lot of elements of suicide in the series. The pictures of the roof, that was the roof of the building I lived in. In my own quiet moments I'd often go up and sit on the edge. I wasn't really thinking I'm going to jump but in a really weird way, it would give me strength to know there was an off button. Like, if it gets too much, if it's too painful, there's the finish. It was very masochistic, and it's so fucked, I know. It's weird expressing that. I really just felt so isolated, like I was losing all of my friends. I became unbelievably depressed—my energy was awful, completely awful. I was in such a shitty space that I didn't even want to bare my presence on people's lives.
Well, there are a lot of elements of suicide in the series. The pictures of the roof, that was the roof of the building I lived in. In my own quiet moments I'd often go up and sit on the edge. I wasn't really thinking I'm going to jump but in a really weird way, it would give me strength to know there was an off button. Like, if it gets too much, if it's too painful, there's the finish. It was very masochistic, and it's so fucked, I know. It's weird expressing that. I really just felt so isolated, like I was losing all of my friends. I became unbelievably depressed—my energy was awful, completely awful. I was in such a shitty space that I didn't even want to bare my presence on people's lives.
That's the evil thing depression does. I makes you believe you're a burden.
It does—such a burden. I'm a very emotionally connective person, and when you connect with someone going through this you take on so much of that pain. I gave myself so much hate for not being able to fix it. And you can't be selfish and say, "Let's make this emotionally about me." It wasn't about that, it wasn't about me. I tried to hide as much of the pain as possible, but both of our emotions were so raw. It was so relentless, so intense.How did you get out of that space?
It's taken a long time. A lot of healing. But I just reached a stage where I had nothing left. I had zero love for myself, or anyone else—anything else. It felt like life was done, so I completely shut down. I couldn't leave my bed for ages, I don't know… I just sort of fell off, I guess. Then I reached a stage where I didn't recognise who I was. I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, "I don't want to be this person. I don't want to bring this energy into the world." It just had to change. It had to.
It does—such a burden. I'm a very emotionally connective person, and when you connect with someone going through this you take on so much of that pain. I gave myself so much hate for not being able to fix it. And you can't be selfish and say, "Let's make this emotionally about me." It wasn't about that, it wasn't about me. I tried to hide as much of the pain as possible, but both of our emotions were so raw. It was so relentless, so intense.How did you get out of that space?
It's taken a long time. A lot of healing. But I just reached a stage where I had nothing left. I had zero love for myself, or anyone else—anything else. It felt like life was done, so I completely shut down. I couldn't leave my bed for ages, I don't know… I just sort of fell off, I guess. Then I reached a stage where I didn't recognise who I was. I remember looking in the mirror and thinking, "I don't want to be this person. I don't want to bring this energy into the world." It just had to change. It had to.
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I imagine it's quite scary getting these photos out in the open.
I didn't think I'd ever release it. I don't know, and I'm still very, it's still a really terrifying thing for me to get this out. It's overwhelming to do it. I didn't really think about it in the sense of, "oh, this will be part of my folio," or body of work. I just thought it would be kind of part of showing vulnerability I guess. Which is one of the things I learned last year, that one of the most beautiful things is just being really vulnerable, like self-deprecating and raw and honest. Or just kind of open, so people can kind of criticise you and look down on you, but also sort of be inspired, or just decide, essentially.
I didn't think I'd ever release it. I don't know, and I'm still very, it's still a really terrifying thing for me to get this out. It's overwhelming to do it. I didn't really think about it in the sense of, "oh, this will be part of my folio," or body of work. I just thought it would be kind of part of showing vulnerability I guess. Which is one of the things I learned last year, that one of the most beautiful things is just being really vulnerable, like self-deprecating and raw and honest. Or just kind of open, so people can kind of criticise you and look down on you, but also sort of be inspired, or just decide, essentially.
That's a very difficult thing to today, online. You're so open to being—
—criticised, scrutinised. Everyone has a perspective. With this story, there's so many perspectives on it, which is why it's really hard for me to tell my own. Is it the right one, is it the honest one?At the same time, a lot of people feel a compulsion to record these things. It's very natural.
I think we're at this era in life where anything that's incredibly emotional, we want to share it. We want people to relate to it. I don't know if it's because you want them to feel like they're a part of the story, but that's definitely a part of our culture, to share these experiences as much as possible.Are you proud of each other?
I think so. There's been some mistakes, and some things that could be handled better, but I'm proud of strength. In general, so much strength.See more of Ward Roberts' work here. Ward asks we share a link to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, which you can donate to here.
—criticised, scrutinised. Everyone has a perspective. With this story, there's so many perspectives on it, which is why it's really hard for me to tell my own. Is it the right one, is it the honest one?At the same time, a lot of people feel a compulsion to record these things. It's very natural.
I think we're at this era in life where anything that's incredibly emotional, we want to share it. We want people to relate to it. I don't know if it's because you want them to feel like they're a part of the story, but that's definitely a part of our culture, to share these experiences as much as possible.Are you proud of each other?
I think so. There's been some mistakes, and some things that could be handled better, but I'm proud of strength. In general, so much strength.See more of Ward Roberts' work here. Ward asks we share a link to the Pancreatic Cancer Action Network, which you can donate to here.