The weight of the camera and the thunk of its shutter.

the thunk of its shutter 1 (1 of 1)

I’m starting a new series called “the weight of the camera and the thunk of its shutter.” There are several reasons for it. First, I’ve just stopped working and so between that and the impending cross-country move and new home to save for, money has to tighten up around here, meaning I have less money for developing film. I do have several rolls of peel-apart still left in the fridge, so I need not stop shooting altogether (like I could anyway?!).

Second, as I get all sentimental about this place we’ve called home over the last several months, it becomes more apparent that a photo can’t quite say it all. There are scents, sounds, and tastes that may remain particular to this place, this large home I once called “Christmas” for getting the chance to live in. There may also be moments outside this place, and the series may likely continue on with me to Tacoma, but the idea is that I’d like to deliberately place myself in one present moment and really soak it up and savor it.

For me, photography isn’t just about skill, or pretty things, or adventuring to shoot. It is also about really being present and appreciating a moment, and not just the obviously “special” ones. As a sentimental collector who can’t ever throw away the Easter bunnies I got every year, I still feel it important to collect memories on film. To hold the moment on paper in your hands years later and say, “remember that?!” Call me sappy, go ahead. I’ll need not defend myself, as instead I’ll be proud. Among the photographs that I still dust off every now and then of my ancestors, my grandmothers, my mother who is no longer with us, and my cousin who left us too early, my own little moments of time and space may also be remembered. Myself, maybe even others, will sit one day like I did, with a decaying box, and its contents spread across the bedspread, captivated by these people, places, and scenes that will never happen again in just that way, fascinated by the details.

That said, those photographs still leave to the imagination the scents, smells, and sounds. For a little while, I’d like to give those things a voice, too. It is also simply an exercise in being present: what do you see, smell, hear, taste, and feel right now?

rosie paris map (1 of 1)

This entry was published on May 29, 2013 at 5:14 pm. It’s filed under film, hasselblad and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

2 thoughts on “The weight of the camera and the thunk of its shutter.

  1. This is brilliant. Very inspiring!

    Thank you for sharing.

  2. I’m going back in your blog to see when you made the announcement and I saw the one that read my last day or something like that. I thought the gesture of friends and family was so nice but I had not stopped to think last day of what? Now I get it. I admire you for your bravery. It brings questions to my mind but since I don’t know you very well it seems intrusive. So I sit back from my safe spot and just watch, watch what you will do how it will all turn out. I admire your bravery from afar, your sense of adventure.

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