Evolution of a Photograph

Last month I was reading the Toronto Star, minding my own business – when I was stopped cold by this headline: Another parent told me not to film my child’s solo at spring concert.

The gist of the item is this: A mother planned on using her iPad to film her daughter’s solo at the school concert and a friend of hers – another parent – cautioned her not to as it would make the other parents in the audience upset. What should she do?

I felt the expert advice was spot on – to reach a compromise of sorts. Have someone less invested in that particular performance discreetly film from a location that wouldn’t bother the rest of the audience. And while I do agree with the advice – it’s not for the reasons stated by the etiquette expert.

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Something similar happened to me last summer – and as a result I’ve been reminded of the true purpose of photos and recordings. What they originally represented compared to what they have silently and gradually turned into.

My youngest child spent a week participating in a space-themed day camp. On the final day of camp, the kids were geared to put on a small performance for family members – there would be singing and a bit of public speaking – all in the name of the final frontier. My son had a brief speaking part which he was nervous about – and I was there front and centre flanked by my two daughters – camera in hand.

When it was his turn, he moved toward the audience and there I was fumbling with my little point-and-shoot camera – looking through the viewfinder, clicking furiously – trying to capture this moment in time for all of eternity. As my son performed, the crowd laughed collectively and the woman next to me leaned in to say: “That was the sweetest thing.”

I could have cried. I hadn’t heard anything. I saw even less. And as for my photographic memories – they were nothing more than a few blurry smudges of my son in profile holding a glittery Saturn cut-out.

Performance complete, my son stood there beaming at us – his mom and sisters who were in the audience cheering him on. Who were sitting there for him. And while it was true – that I was indeed sitting there for him – in the end I hadn’t really been there for him at all.

Somewhere along the way, my photo-taking hobby went from being a creative way to document a momentous event to the actual event itself. And in some cases – actually exceeding in importance over the event it was meant to record in the first place. And I know I’m not the only one who has fallen victim to this photo-op gone mad – I’ve seen the beautifully plated food posted on Facebook. Who cares what the gourmet burger actually tastes like – so long as it’s picture perfect, posted online and liked 100 times before the first bite is taken.

As my daughter so readily pointed out – if I had a cellphone in my possession – the photograph of my son’s performance could have been easily set up and snapped. But that’s not really the point. The point is – I would still have been more focussed on capturing a photograph than actually enjoying my son’s opportunity to shine.

Don’t get me wrong – I love my photos. Back before the ubiquitous cellphone, I was the one who everyone counted on for bringing their camera along. Even as a teenager, I was the kid with the camera – never a fancy get-up – just a pocket-sized, easy-to-use point-and-click number. I wasn’t overly concerned with quality – I just wanted to be prepared to capture momentous occasions at a moment’s notice.

And it has served me well over the years. One of my favourite photos is of me and my best friend posing happily in front of a waterfront hotel in Windsor as it burns to the ground. Then there was the time that my brother and I were hanging out at Pogo’s in Windsor when a Degrassi cast member (from the original series) strolled on in. My trusty camera was there for both these occasions and I have the documentation to prove it.

Even now, I cherish my photos. I meticulously label and painstakingly file them onto an external hard drive before printing them into books. Because after all, pictures are memories. But really they aren’t.

Memories are memories.

And photos and videos that record the actual moment or the time leading up to or immediately following the moment are simply the icing on top. Except when they get in the way of the memories they are supposed to be documenting.

Like every other person of a certain age, I was real-lifing back when there was no such thing as social media and texting. And I’m going to take some back-pedalling baby steps to return to these simpler times.

This is my wakeup call – to start living IRL. No more frittering away hours on IMDB when I can be productive and write an article about frittering away hours on IMDB. No more waiting with camera in hand and eye to viewfinder.

Of course, I’m still going to carry my camera around with me – because you never know when you may run into Louie Anderson or the like. And my family portraits and Christmas cards will still be carefully contrived events. But from now on, all other photos will happen before or after the momentous event or I will ask someone else to photograph it while I enjoy it in real time. So when I look back on the photo 20 years from now, I can say: “Oh yeah – I remember this.”

And actually mean it.