SAY CHEESE
/“ARE YOU THROWING AWAY FAMILY PICTURES!?”
No. I’m curating my photo collection.
Doesn’t that have a sophisticated, careful, cautious, thoughtful, responsible, artistic ring to it? The result is the same though; sort of.
Nora the Photographer
I’ve committed to “downsizing” and it’s not just photos. It’s books, articles, journals, art, little treasures—seven decades worth of ephemera.
As happens with us daydreaming types, a song came to mind as I was elbows deep in a bin of photos. The song had an immediate impact. All of a sudden I went from a man-on-a-disposal-mission to a sap that couldn’t bring himself to drop another memory in the trash can.
The song is called Bookends by Simon & Garfunkel. It’s just over one minute long but it’s impact is long-lasting. It has been on a replay loop in my mind and heart for a disabling amount of time now. The lyrics are brief but poignant. (Isn’t that the way it is with brevity sometimes?) Here are the words in their entirety:
Time it was
And what a time it was, it was
A time of innocence
A time of confidences
Long ago it must be
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you
Plan B: Put the burden on someone else.
With the trash can back in the garage, but the downsizing mandate staring me in the face, literally in the faces of the most important people in my life at various ages and stages—a light bulb comes on.
Now I have a pile for each of our sons: Corey and Kyle. Let them sift through these memories. It’s sort of a subversive way of saying, “Here, you throw these away. I can’t do it. I’m a Baby Boomer, an archiver, a sentimental old fool.”
Our boys came of age in the big transition of photography: from film, chemicals, negatives and prints to digital images. Sifting and sorting is different now. People don’t edit and curate. They just buy a bigger hard drive or more memory or space on The Cloud.
Now you can take an iPhone and shoot up a storm. Back in the day, we had a camera loaded with 24 shots of pure Kodachrome. Each release of the shutter had to count. We were curating as we shot.
Sometimes our most vivid pictures aren’t printed on photo paper sitting in a box, or in ones and zeros sitting in a server somewhere. Somehow we just have them—imprinted in our personhood. For example, I don’t have a printed photograph of my Aunt Joyce with her camera, but I have vivid, clear images of her looking down into her Kodak Brownie recording family. I don’t have a picture of my grandmother cooking chicken and noodles, but the image is so clear I can almost taste them. I don’t have a photo of my baptism but I can remember the look of joy on my dad’s face. We were married before videotape, but I can remember the wonder of it. I can connect the lines between the photos we do have of that day.
Now the photos I cherish most are of our grandkids. Fortunatley, their parents are wonderful photographers, capturing the unique character of each one them, telling a story with every shot.
On those days when I find myself standing in a room trying to remember what it was I was looking for when I wandered in there, I realize those printed pictures are good to have, because it’s like Paul Simon said:
I have a photograph
Preserve your memories
They're all that's left you