I am sitting in the photo lab scanning in all of my negatives from the film photography class I took last Fall and feeling a bit angry with myself for not doing it weekly as I shot/developed the pictures. That being said, it’s been pretty interesting rummaging, frame by frame, through last semester. Right now, in this tiny, windowless, room, I am reliving the adventures I had, both on my own and with my family and friends. There is an incredible difference (for the better) from late August to early December, as the seasons changed so did my skill set. Listening to the humming sounds coming from the scanner to my right I’ve had an entire afternoon (five hours) to think/reflect. I remember all of those days whose moments I stole with a click of my shutter. I remember the weather, the sounds, the lighting, the temperature. I remember if I was barefoot exploring or carefully setting up my shot. Through these images I not only see how my work improved throughout the semester, but how much my life had as well. This is why I love photography; I love that a single image can instantly transport you to a very specific moment in life. It is a feeble attempt to capture that which is fleeting, to hold on to a time, an event, an instant that we don’t trust our minds to keep for us. We shoot what we find important, beautiful or even sickening, simply because we don’t want to forget. We know our lives are fleeting, we know our minds will fail; we understand that no two sunsets are the same, that the sunlight will never rest itself so delicately on the same blade of grass twice. By collecting snapshots we’re collecting our story. It’s humanity trying to cling on to that which defines us. I will always take a picture of wildflowers alongside the road, because the next time I drive by they’ll be mowed down. I will always sneak pictures of my parents when they aren’t looking, because one day their gazes won’t be there at all. I am aware that time cannot be captured, that the instant you take a photograph it’s an image of the past; that’s what fascinates me. Ten years down the road I’ll be looking at images of twenty year old me thinking “wow, I was so young, so naive, so innocent” just like I currently do when I look at images of ten year old me. And so it goes. My story is told in a trail of pictures that mean little to others, but everything to me.
As I edit these images from last semester, I would like to share them with you. I want you to see the moments of time that stole my attention, the things that my lens was being drawn to.
I’ll post them as I finish cleaning them up.
Week 1 – Fashion Meets Music Festival (FMMF), Local Natives, Columbus, OH