The house is silent, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday night. Yet, even as I sit, ignoring the club night promoted via one mother’s Instagram post, many remarks swim in and out of my present mind.
My website requires updates tonight, and I fear I do not know which photos to publish. In fact, the concern isn’t limited to web posting. Just as much as I remain quiet in front of matters, I hesitate – an irksome combination, because others know the opposite to be true. Many know my photos to be artistic, and my manner boisterous. Perhaps, it isn’t superficial, so much as a moment of myself, as a portrait is only a glimpse at one’s person.
The frustration with film lies in a shortchanging of the rapture, a cheapening of life experience. I always want my capture to catch everything, and rarely am I content. Film tends to evaluate my performance as I behold the results long after I took my shot. It’s no surprise, then that the return of some negatives marked ‘1 ROLL TOO LIGHT TO CUT’ devastated me so. The memories of those photos will have to suffice, but like a sign to not lose heart, one of the frames endured.
