I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you
that I almost believe that they’re real.
I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you
that I almost believe that the pictures
are all I can feel.
I was commenting to Neal the other day how odd I find it when people have tons of pictures of themselves with others. Who is taking all of these pictures of people? And giving the picutres to them? I’m amazed.
One of Neal’s acquaintances has a picture of him and her on her blog banner. I noticed this and pondered having pictures of myself. Granted, their mutual friend took the picture and gave it to them both, of course. Heck, Neal emailed a copy of the pic to me the day he received it. But I pondered this because I told Neal that I can’t imagine having pictures of me with other people lying here and there, randomly pasted about. He then reminded me that when we are out and about together people are always stopping us and offering to take our pictures.
Sure, part of this is because we both often have our cameras with us, I think. But…why do people assume we want our pictures taken? Is this how people get so many pictures of themselves with others? Complete strangers stop and offer to take your picture? I just…don’t understand this. The first time we went as a couple to some falls we were asked while sitting on a wall if we wanted our picture taken by a couple tourists from another country. The last time I visited him and we were walking on our beach, another stranger stopped us and asked if we wanted our picture taken together. Other times while out and about when people see us with a camera, it almost seems as though it were a natural inclintation that we would want our picture taken together.
But…I’m not fond of cameras when they are pointed in my direction at all. I love looking through one and seeing what I can see in nature and record that moment in its ever-changing presence for future reference but…pictures of myself? Do I want that? Do I want to see myself captured, also for future reference?
I really am amazed when people put together slide shows of themselves with other people. My slide show would be about three seconds long and that is with a two second transition between pics. All of the pics I do have seem to be of me throwing my hands in front of my face or of attempting to duck around a doorway as someone is rushing at me with a camera. It was a game in college to attempt to catch me on film. And I have some awful pics to prove that it didn’t work out so well.
But…why this aversion to pics? I’ve finally allowed Neal to take a few, since he enjoys doing so, and I assented with the last man who offered to take our picture while we were on the beach at dusk. But…I think I’ve finally figured out why I don’t take pics of people or want my picture taken.
I want to enjoy. I want to do. I don’t want to pose. I don’t want to capture the moment for future reference. I don’t take my camera to parties or to gatherings. I want to live the experience. I don’t want anyone left out of the action in the least. I don’t want any of the people I’m hanging out with to experience the moment through a tiny frame, instead wishing them to see the whole picture completely, without delay or pause. Fully seeing and enjoying and being with me.
I don’t need a picture to remind me of the moments at the falls or the walk on the beach, sitting against a log afterwards and enjoying the darkening sky and water together. I don’t need a physical reminder of these things to hold in my hand because my memory is so fresh and clear, my mind captures these snapshots with those I love and holds them closer than a bit of captured light on paper: It holds them in my heart.
And I don’t want to look at a piece of paper and wonder about the people in it, where they went, why they aren’t near me. I want to maintain my wide view, seeing all and keeping people, not in my lens, but in my life.
Remembering:
You, standing quiet in the rain,
as I ran to your heart to be near
and we kissed as the sky fell in,
holding you close,
how I always held close in your fear.Remembering:
You, running soft through the night:
You were bigger and brighter and whiter than the snow
and screamed at the make-believe,
screamed at the sky,
and you finally found all your courage
to let it all go.
Memory is good. Memory is wonderful. Or can be. It cloaks us, those around us, and our past with a loveliness.
It doesn’t always remember true, however. Nor do pictures. I know that I was surprised the first few times I met you, just because you weren’t how I remembered, or how I imagined you would from the pics.
Still, I know what you’re saying. I went on England Term, and have practically no pictures of the people I was with. I didn’t want to waste my film (as I saw it) on people I saw every day, etc. I wanted to remember the places I went to. I can remember who I was with, not so well the places I went. Seeing their pictures brings back my memory.
Good pictures can do that. Enhance your memory and bring it back. Make it come to life after it’s been dead for awhile, or grayer. Pictures can help the memory you value, hon. I like my pictures of you. They help my memory, my thoughts, everything. (sorry to get sappy a bit at the end)
My memory is better than any photograph. It remembers not only sight but the sounds, the feelings, the emotions, the events on each side of a photo. It remembers it all.
I prefer it that way. I don’t want to miss the moments prior to the photo snap by getting the camera ready or the moments right after while I’m moving the camera away.
I want to participate in it all.
But, for those who want the pictures, so be it. I’m content without them and, as my non-existent scrapbook reminds, always have.
It seems to me that memory and record go hand-in-hand. I like both. I want both. I have both. I don’t see them as being enemies, or as one being always superior to another.
I actually like taking pictures of my friends, having my picture taken with them, etc. It makes the memories even more vivid to see them.
Pictures can be nice. I’ll be noncommittal, I suppose. But…I don’t want them. I don’t need them. And, as I said, I don’t want to stand back and photograph people doing something, don’t even want to take one millesecond out of time spent with my friends in companionship and fellowship. I don’t see them enough and I want to spend the time interacting with them, not recording them or observing. I want to take part, not observe. I’m not a historian in a club…and I don’t want to be.