Great essay, Mark! Very thought provoking ruminations on the intrinsic value of the Kodachromes and Polaroids of your youth.
My dad really got into photography, and even developed his own B&W prints in a makeshift darkroom when we lived in Venezuela. He documented our family's history in photos, not all of which I would call "snapshots" because many were taken after several minutes of fussing with the lighting, the camera settings, the "set", and of course, an uncooperative brood of rugrats whom would refuse to hold still, smile on cue, or even look in the general direction of the camera.
Every "wasted" shot back then was a frustrating experience, a negative that had to be developed and likely printed before the hapless photographer could see just how bad the photo was. But even those "bad" shots have some historical value; they captured our capriciousness, our rebellion, our discord. I treasure those bad shots as much as the good ones. Reality, warts and all.
Today's photographers are spared that angst; a bad shot on "digital film" costs nothing.
My dad also made copies of photos from his and my mother's parents' archives, so I have the benefit of 3 generations' worth of very old photos, when families would dress in their Sunday best and go to a photographer's studio to pose in a covered wagon, or in front of their prized new automobile. Smiles were rare, which led me to think as a child that my ancestors were unhappy people who lived in a black and white world I could scarcely imagine. But seeing the faces of my grandparents and their parents, frozen in time, yet bearing an unmistakable resemblance to my parents and my siblings, created a connection that makes those old photos precious.
A wonderful thoughtful post on the snapshot. I really enjoy seeing the images captured by your parents as well as the photo of you and Jocelyn in 1989. Great work, Mark!
Great essay, Mark! Very thought provoking ruminations on the intrinsic value of the Kodachromes and Polaroids of your youth.
My dad really got into photography, and even developed his own B&W prints in a makeshift darkroom when we lived in Venezuela. He documented our family's history in photos, not all of which I would call "snapshots" because many were taken after several minutes of fussing with the lighting, the camera settings, the "set", and of course, an uncooperative brood of rugrats whom would refuse to hold still, smile on cue, or even look in the general direction of the camera.
Every "wasted" shot back then was a frustrating experience, a negative that had to be developed and likely printed before the hapless photographer could see just how bad the photo was. But even those "bad" shots have some historical value; they captured our capriciousness, our rebellion, our discord. I treasure those bad shots as much as the good ones. Reality, warts and all.
Today's photographers are spared that angst; a bad shot on "digital film" costs nothing.
My dad also made copies of photos from his and my mother's parents' archives, so I have the benefit of 3 generations' worth of very old photos, when families would dress in their Sunday best and go to a photographer's studio to pose in a covered wagon, or in front of their prized new automobile. Smiles were rare, which led me to think as a child that my ancestors were unhappy people who lived in a black and white world I could scarcely imagine. But seeing the faces of my grandparents and their parents, frozen in time, yet bearing an unmistakable resemblance to my parents and my siblings, created a connection that makes those old photos precious.
I think that art is in the eye of the beholder. Mark, I enjoyed your post on the snapshot. Snapshots can be art, and so much more.
Seter aka Pentoney
A wonderful thoughtful post on the snapshot. I really enjoy seeing the images captured by your parents as well as the photo of you and Jocelyn in 1989. Great work, Mark!
Thanks. Mark. I have another essay in mind about how selfie culture differs and is similar to those old snapshots.
Thanks for reading and commenting, Laura. I love the time capsule element of those images.