Film

Film.

Reminds me what it was like to make an image without listening.  Without blogs or Etsy or thousands of photography websites at my fingertips with eternal piles of imagery -- sun kissed children, lilac-ed brides. Paled skin.  Eyes all-a-perfectly shining.  A bevy of crisp, noiseless, digital sheen.  So many places to fall short.

I found these old photos and realized 10 years ago the only thing I listened to was my eye behind the camera.  And I didn’t even know I was listening, I just shot.  The film gave the magic of delay -- no looking or judging right away.   And when the film was developed, that was it.  No revising, never deleting.  It was what it was.  You would then share the photos in hand with family or friends, who stuck them in frames or pinned them to bulletin boards or the fridge.  So tactile.  Edges curled, they almost smelled like a book.  Glossy, light swelled, paper lined, words like “Kodak” or “Endurance” swimming in light blue script, corner to corner across the back.  These photos make me miss the way I could hold the image.  Tuck it into a pocket or bag.  Then find it months later like an old tissue or receipt.  Immediately brought back to the moment that it captured.

I just bought a new digital camera.  But I still miss film.