There's a TV show called something like "Man... Moment... Machine..." and I am thinking of it as I consider the last couple of days. While visiting Don's parents, we made a trip to the Houston Museum of Natural Science to check out the Leonardo da Vinci exhibit. Features included artwork, writings, sketches, and working models of some of da Vinci's whatzits. Don's cousins and uncle are big photography buffs, and it was almost as interesting to see what would catch their eyes and the camera lenses as it was to see the tangible genius of da Vinci.I am not an artist like Don's cousins when a camera is placed in my hands. I am more of a historian. The camera documents life and emotion, and I am intrigued by the option to look back over time and savor days that went too quickly and those that seemed to drag on for far too long.
My own love of the preserved photographic image goes back to a wooden cigar box on which my Mom decoupaged photos of herself, my Dad, and I. The box had a clasp that held the lid on, but when it was opened there were piles of photos inside waiting to give glimpses of our lives and the lives of those dear to us. From black and whites showing off my grandparents in younger days to the slightly grainy square 70's shots of my cousins and I playing on a backyard swingset or surrounding a decorated Christmas tree.
A couple of decades later, I love to watch moments, days, and events unfold in images that capture the all-too-brief moments of joy, sorrow, confusion, anticipation... the shot of a newborn's first cry, the scene outside the car window that will always remind one of a trip long past, the frozen image of a flower that bloomed for a day or two, or a summer day...
No comments:
Post a Comment