or essentially, a whole heap of new technology designed to achieve what we used to have before they invented all this new technology.
That’s my mammy. The tall one. The first and last time she’ll ever be called that!
The more we are able to render real life in real detail the more we seem to be choosing to filter it out. As if we can’t really handle it. I don’t know tho.
The wonderful thing about art is that we pick and chose what we show and how we show it. Real life can be a deluge, so much hitting all our senses at the same time that we don’t know what we are seeing and as such we can miss what is going on – like sun winking of a windshield obscuring the little boy pedalling in front of your car.
anything designed to capture a second of that mess, like a photo, can with all its sharp-eyed critical zooming, capture a lie and it falls to art to restore the truth. The vibrant larger than life friend who laid bare in celluloid becomes a tired mess of yellow stained teeth and dark shadows. A revelation or just bad lighting?
Then there are the photos that feel like a window to another time. Maybe much like writing, its all a matter of perspective. And a photographer must become the artist, the narrator, if they are to present to us what they want, rather than simply trusting blindly that the camera – and the viewer – will be able to see what they see.
My granddad bequeathed us with an original polaroid camera. His prized possession. One of a precious few. He died when I was in my mid-teens. Looking back I realise how much we had in common. He is the only one in my family who seems to have felt my love of art and been driven by the same desire to create. I wish he had lived long enough for us to share that. But I’m lucky. He left a legacy – music recorded on old tapes and photos… so so so many photos. I love them all. I love them for what they show me, my parents before I wore them in 🙂
Bad hair..(that’s my daddy. The Bee Gees were very popular then..so he says)
…fabulous fashion ( and ridiculously low fuel prices)
…that people are the same in every generation
but I think it also shows that wonderful as art can be, history stands equal. There is something about the original, about knowing that what you hold in your hand is something that truly was and not just dreamed, that is irreplaceable. Thank you, granddad.