Life in Pictures

Call them photgraphs or snapshots, even a mug or portrait. What they evoke for all of us is memories. Whether it was caught in a moment red-handed or just a scene of pure bliss, we keep our stills near and dear. Your loved ones have made it safely out of your burning house, but you have one last chance to run inside and grab a single armload of possessions before the home is nothing more than a levelled pile of ash. You are going to emerge with photo albums right? While most of us are thankful to never face this scenario, it's what movies and books all portray. I'd bet my bottom dollar that we've at least thought of or discussed our views if made to face this situation. I was lucky enough to work for 5 or so years during my late teens and early twenties in a 1-hour photo and I saw that people were passionate about their photos, and capturing all details of their lives in print as their days passed by. An industry has been launched, thrived and grown all from the onset. Back in the day it was a 'picture show' that blew what we know now as 'major motion pictures' into Hollywood as it is. From old cepia images captured using 1-time burnout flash bulbs to a now thriving digital empire feeding a scrapbooking paradise. Unless egocentric, I think it's safe to say we all for the majority of the time hate ourselves in the photofinish, much less being the subject to begin with. Although my current driver's license picture is actually quite stunning, correct me if I'm wrong that most people think they look absolutely horrid in theirs. The morning of a wedding we all primp our hair, spending zillions on that and getting the make-up on that has to be flawless from whatever angle is best, praying to Jesus, Mary and Holy St. Joseph for no rain, and for what? You guessed it; the pictures that will be forever judged, 2nd mortgage taken out to pay for, but most importantly for decades to come to be a revolving door of explanations in which direction the family tree branched from which roots, all wearing pink taffeta. Mumsy and I will every so often bust out the old albums and through the rawness of the old black & white pictures I am able to fill in blanks with people I was never able to meet, in stories only heard, never seen. When I was a child I absolutely hated reading, and felt a little naughty when I was lucky enough to come across a novel assigned to me with pictures here and there between chapters. Skipping past a page without words just didn't seem right, but the accomplishment of being able to finish the book that much faster was nice. God Bless pictures in grade 4 reading material. I think about the modern day conundrums of usually anavoidable red-eyes; light reflections caused by mirrors or chandeliers that some spin lavishly into Syvlia Brown/John Edward-esque like orbs meaning something more than meets the eye; or the ever so clever self shot, generally containing a partly stretched out arm, and just way too much of 2 washed out faces filling the entire shot, double chin and all. Whatever it might be, we cherish our pictures and every emotion they stir-up. As is said, 'a picture is worth a thousand'...how many words are there in this entry? Say Cheese!

Toodles