Stephen Iliffe: The photography exhibition which reveals the uncanny Synchronicity with my half-sister’s life and work

In its first month, a unique online photography exhibition by Deaf photographer Stephen Iliffe – and his sister Sarah – has had 4,628 visitors from 70 countries. Here, he tells us the story of how they were reunited then found similarities in their work.

Sarah and I are siblings who grew up 10,000 miles apart in England and Australia – unknown to each other, as if in a parallel universe. 

Until I was 50, I took it for granted that I was an only child. Then, I began a family history project. Out of the blue, I discovered a half-sister on the other side of the world in Adelaide.

When I made first online contact with Sarah in 2016, we were astonished to find that not only did we look startlingly alike (see our high school photos above) but photography was a central part of both our lives too.

As we explored each other’s photography archives, a string of uncanny coincidences began to emerge.

32 years earlier, for my photography degree show at Leicester’s De Montfort University, I had taken a double-exposed self-portrait in a wheat field (above, left). When Sarah began her diploma studies at Adelaide’s Centre for Creative Photography, she took a similar double-exposure of herself (above, right) in the Adelaide Hills. 

This just stopped us in our tracks. We asked ourselves, “How does this happen?”. The result is Synchronicity – our first joint project. 

Photographs taken independently by us before we knew of each other are blended into montages that weave our previously-compartmentalised lives into a dream-like narrative.

For example, ‘Plane Shadows’ (above), blends two photographs, one by Sarah in 2014 (flying over Australia) and the other by me in 2015 (above England). It eerily symbolises our earlier co-existence on different flight paths through life.

Another example, ‘Zen Ripples’ (above) illustrates how Sarah (in 2014) and I (2015) once visited the very same lake in Tokyo’s Taranaki Park. We took similar pictures of the koi fish (Sarah’s yellow koi to the left and my orange one, right). 

As we began to compare notes, we realised that our shared passions for photography both evolved out of difficult childhood experiences. 

I was born deaf. So, I grew up a shy, awkward child – unable to follow people talking in groups or noisy places. I had a secure middle-class childhood, yet always felt on the margins. 

My father wasn’t around when I grew up, he abandoned me when I was four months old, and disappeared without trace. So I was an only child too, which added to my introspective nature. I’d invent games that involved dialogue with imaginary siblings. 

By the time I was 18, I felt more at ease hiding behind my Fuji camera. Photography was more accessible than talking to people around me. I converted my family’s bathroom into a makeshift darkroom for all-night sessions, churning out black-and-white prints. From there on, it became an obsession. I took a degree in photography and have been involved with it ever since.

On Australia’s east coast, my now incognito father had remarried and Sarah was born in 1970, nine years after me, in Brisbane. 

“My childhood was a series of unpredictable moves from one Australian state to another,” says Sarah. “I went to 14 different schools. Always making and quickly losing friends. Each time we moved, my treasured possessions got tossed in the bin. Of my entire childhood, I have very few photos – less than a roll of film.” 

“After being on the road for so long, I finally settled down in Adelaide,” adds Sarah. “At 18, I bought my first camera, a Pentax. I’d spend hours in the darkroom, often until midnight, feverishly printing. I found memories could now be turned into something tangible, printed onto a beautiful piece of paper. Something I could own, keep and treasure.” 

“In Adelaide, I attended a diploma course in photography and refined my skills further. Photography was also a core part of my life too.” 

Another of the many ways that Sarah’s and my lives mirrored each other is that we both have a daughter named Sophie (above, my daughter to the left, Sarah’s to the right). We montaged two old snaps and had the Sophies hold hands with each other, as if in a time-shifting dance. 

The questions that hovers over this project: Is it genetics or just random chance that we share so many similarities in our lives and our photographic works? Who knows? 

We chose the title of Synchronicity – which refers to the way that people and events link in ways that we can’t always fully understand or predict. We leave that out there as an open question, a question that people can interpret for themselves.

When Sarah and I first met in Australia (above) in 2016, it was like meeting a sibling for the first time yet feeling as if we’d known each other all our lives. 
You can view the Synchronicity project online at www.sarahstephenphoto.com