In praise of (not so) picture perfect photographs and memories

Sometimes I find it hard not to get overwhelmed with photographs and memories.  
 
This was one of those weeks.
 
First, on Monday, one of my favorite photographers, Robert Frank, passed away at the age of 94.  Frank was best known for photographs that visually reflected the adversity and melancholy felt by those who weren’t being lifted up by the ‘American Dream’ (many of which were collected in his 1958 book The Americans).  Frank was also a compatriot of the Beat generation poets and artist, often collaborating with Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and others to transform moving imagery (he made more than 20 films) into understanding of a poetic (and sometimes tragic) America that lived just outside the view of many.
 
Then on Tuesday, as part of its annual fall product rollout, Apple announced its new suite of products, and in particular the new iPhone Pro with not one, not two, but THREE cameras – essentially acknowledging that the iPhone (and its user) is as much about image capture as it is communications.
 
Finally, on Wednesday, the solemn images of September 11, 2001 reminded us of a day 18 years ago that many of us can emotionally recall like it was yesterday. Those pictures were from a time before social media deluged us, yet are nonetheless seared in our minds and hearts and reflect our collective memory of a moment in time that we can never forget.
 
And among all of those events, my Instagram feed is still filled with images of joy and celebration, as well as energy and achievement.  Friends who went to Burning Man are (still!) posting photos of their experiences.  Others are sharing photos of their summer travels, their early fall get-togethers, and even their autumn harverst meals (including the triumphant seasonal return of the Starbucks Pumpkin Spice Latte). 
 
So. Many. Photos.
 
There is something magnetic about a photograph – it brings us back to a place we have been, to people we have known, or to a time we experienced either in solitude or community.  We store them on our phones and in the cloud, and occasionally even print them and do something old-school like put them in a frame. They are anchors to our past, and touchstones to who we were (and who we were with) at a moment in time. Equally, they are visual legacies to what we experienced, and all too often what (and who) we have lost.
 
But this week I have been thinking that photographs are more than tools for a nostalgic look back; they are a way to remind us of where we are NOW, and a reminder to look optimistically at what is possible in the future. 
 
Those moments when we were happiest – what were the ingredients that made them occur? Those people we were smiling with – what did we do to make those relationships happen? The pictures aren’t just a snapshot of time gone by, but reminders of what it takes to create memories yet to come.
 
Yet far too many of us (sometimes myself included) focus on capturing the perfect image, the ideal photo of an ideal moment. That’s why Apple is giving us three camera lenses, right?  So we can have a super-sharp memory of a picture perfect moment, with shimmery smiles and ideal backdrops?  And if we don’t think the photo we took is perfect, we can always edit, crop, and filter it until it is satisfactory, blurring out the messy background and sharpening the focus on what we want to see.  In essence, we can manipulate the photo in ways that reflect the moment we WANT to recall, even if that isn’t exactly the way it looked at the time.
 
But life is messy, and perhaps our photos should be a bit messier too.  
 
They can be more candid, more real – capturing who we are, not just the idealistic image we want to project.  Perhaps if we let our photos be a bit less perfect, it will reduce the pressure we sometimes feel for our present and future to be perfect.  We can just capture ourselves as ourselves, and know that what “is” and what “will be” are equally imperfect. 
 
Perhaps unfiltered photographs and memories will allow us to optimistically see our futures in unfiltered ways as well.
 
Robert Frank once said when describing the cross-country journey he took to capture the photographs included in The Americans: “I was absolutely free to just turn left or right, without knowing what I would find.”   Maybe these words by Frank, in this week (and world) of images, is a great reminder to us to be a bit freer with our photographs and ourselves. To boundlessly go forward into our lives without firm knowledge of what we will find or what it will look like when we photograph them.  Photographs and memories are postcards we send to ourselves, and you don’t always need to ‘say cheese.’
 
Just try not to blink.

 

Questions for further reflection:

  

  • Choose one photograph from your phone's camera roll from the past month.  Why did you take that photo?  How does the photo make you feel?

 

  • Choose another photo of you with someone else (or a group). Why was it important you had that photo taken?  Why are those people important to you? Have you shared it with them?  If not (or even if you have) send it to them with a note of why they are important to you.

 

  • Choose one more photo.  Did you share the photo via social media? If so, why (or why not)? What does “how” you shared the photo reflect the “why” of your taking the photo?

Seth Cohen