Photography as a record makes less sense as I grow old
I love looking through really old photos. Photographs, to me, are a record. They show me how things were “back then”.
I’ll be 60 years old in July. It occurred to me that I’ll be dead before the photographs I take today are interesting as a record of life. “Back then” isn’t going to be that far back, so what, then, are any new photographs for? This uncomfortable question has introduced a sort of nihilism into my attitude towards photography.
“What about your kids and grandkids and so on? Won’t they enjoy seeing things as they were?” I don’t know, will they?
I kept 24 of my grandfather’s photo albums. No one else wanted them after he passed. Every photo is captioned with a date, place, and the names of the people in it. They are priceless, and yet, they are sitting in storage. As important and treasured as I claim that they are to me, I sometimes wonder why I keep them. Would anyone even notice if I tossed them into the bin? Would I?
My daughter has heard me preaching “Print and save your precious photos!” her entire life. And yet, it wouldn’t surprise me if she tossed all of my stuff as soon as I’m gone. I hope she doesn’t, but she might. Who wants to drag all that crap around forever? It’s just a bunch of old photos.