I still remember finding an old photograph of two very small children left in the back of our kitchen drawer when my family and I moved into our house. The photo paper was crinkling at the corners and humid weather conditions seeping into the house helped damage the picture that was forgotten and left out to exposure.
The family before us had lived in this quaint little house for nearly ten years before they relocated to another town, but somehow I feel as though they have never left because of the small piece of them that they had left behind.
I noticed recently that my view on photographs has changed over the years. Before moving into this house I would have never considered the great connection those people who lived here previously to us had with that little piece of paper, but after a few years of experimenting with my camera, I now hold a new found respect for the carefully captured images.
Photos are just a snapshot of life. They freeze a moment in time within the confines of piece of paper, hidden away on rolls of film, or locked up inside a digital file. Those that have died before us live on in our thoughts and the memories captured on film. It’s as if the world of the past is just beyond the photographs that we hold so dear, and when look at the old photograph of the two very small children eerily staring back at me, I wonder what stories are attached to that little piece of photo paper.
Jazzed About Stuff 