Picture the moment of getting your picture taken. You think back to your catalogue of faces that look best. The sort of smile, the half smile, the sort of half smile, the look away candid shot, and the look directly into the camera intensely shot. No matter how natural and unaware you try to look, the reality of the moment being captured, and potentially tagged, will always cloud the authenticity with a hint a self-consciousness. The awareness lurks as a shadow of the shot.
Before having The Munch, I hardly ever took pictures. I felt that the act of taking out the camera took me out of what I was actually experiencing. That, and I was too lazy to carry a camera around with me. I originally thought I was never going to be one of those parents who had to document every drool. I was above that. Maybe I would take a few avant garde shots with her in surrounded by pussy willows wearing white lace, but that is it.
Yeah right
I have about 1000 pictures of her already, and she is only 8 months old. I know this because I take them all on my phone. I am not sure how she is going to feel about the fact that her baby hood has been captured almost exclusively by a Blackberry, but I never grew out of being too lazy to bring a camera around thing.
Now the thing that baffles me, is that she knows she is getting her picture taken. I am sure of it. I swear on everything holy that she poses. Considering that I take her picture exclusively with my phone, only makes her intentional smiles and grins more outrageous. How can she tell the difference between my texting, and taking her picture? I guess because she is a genius, obviously, but still.
It makes me wonder about why we take pictures and what they mean to us. I think the pictures we take of others has to do with the desire to solidify a memory. Acknowledging an instance of beauty and never wanting to let it go. A cavernous need to feel like we have some control over the ethereal nature of time that is always passing no matter how much we want it to slow down. But what about pictures of ourselves? Is there an element of vanity? Sure. That exists. I want a hot picture of me so others will see and confirm my hotness. But there is also something deeper. A desperate feeling to encapsulate our youth considering every second brings us closer to our mortality. Maybe part of the satisfaction of seeing a picture of ourselves a reminder that we are alive?
