Years ago television ads promoted the taking of pictures to preserve memories. As the Kodak Company made its pitch, singer Paul Anka provided the musical background by crooning that the photos captured “the times of our lives.” I was always a sucker for that commercial.
It meant that people took photos with a camera that required a roll of undeveloped film which, when fully exposed, one took to Walgreen’s for processing. The result was a bevy of photos that were held in the hands and elicited strong memories of the particular event that had been recorded.
Digital fans don’t seem to see it that way. They take photos and move them to their computers’ hard drives. From there, perhaps they crop and size and improve and adjust. This function alone alters reality. Hopefully, in the process, they take time to recall the memory.
But what I have noticed most about people who are into digital photography is that you never get a photo via snail mail from them. In fact, it’s rare that you get to see what they’ve taken at all, in spite of such Internet venues as flickr.
My cousin, Steve, is a case in point. Every Thanksgiving he seems to take copious photos of our annual gathering; but I have yet to see one of them. He does it all digitally, then returns home to review them, and most likely files them on his computer. I grant it’s a great space saving device — as I have about 2000 photos in various boxes on shelves screaming for attention and organization — but I don’t think it is more human. I mean, aren’t memories to be shared?
When I die, my two sons will be left the task of sorting the one hundred years of family photos I have. If they were all on my computer, they could be gone in the blink of a delete’s eye. But in my case, someone will have to go through them. I hope they enjoy some Kodak moments along the way.
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