Last night I was looking through old black-and-white photographs of families not my own. They're such a different culture but I can still draw so many similarities between their photographs and that of my own family's. They just show human beings. Normal people who used to live their lives on this world, working hard and keeping themselves occupied doing the day-to-day things. Growing up and changing a bit.
The photos depict them not necessarily traveling or drinking or any other modern "must Facebook status" event. These people are in the local parks picnicking with their girlfriends by the lake. Ex-boyfriends. Boys pose stoicly with their fellow army comrades. Girls pose coyly by the rose bush. Accompanying the photographs are the equally interesting stories: who married who; what became of them; who they're buried with.
They're not people I have ever met. I can't even pronounce their names. Yet I get so curious as to how they lived their lives and what was said or remembered about them. How did they play their part in the world? Did they make their community "a better place?" Our bit is so small here. The world still revolves without you but you can still make an important impact despite your brief stay.
People didn't travel as much back then. Their influence covered a very small portion of society, compared to our global capabilities today constantly being enhanced by globalisation and cheap travel, etc. The smallest community unit is a family, and that's the proudest legacy of these people. It's so simple. But if everyone lived with that outlook, it has the most profound implications and the world becomes a far better place, or community. Today people want to change the whole world, but they're forgetting the basic units that make it up. Destroying it even, with relativist thinking that seems to govern everything.
The people in these photographs lived fulfilling lives and fell in love and had many children, with the same spouse. Growing up as one of six children, that point always needed clarifying. The photographs don't show them smiling all the time but that doesn't mean they weren't happy people. The camera captured just a second of their time. There is so much in between that we'll never know about, remaining forever unrecorded.
At least when the did, it's a different smile. A smile of contentment. They don't force it. I go back to me, as usual. Why do all mine look forced? Why is there this need to look so happy all the time in every shot. It's almost creepy.
I can't pinpoint exactly what it is that I love about old photographs that just doesn't seem to be there in modern ones. Their children and grandchildren touch them so preciously, and with such care and sentiment. I fast-forward and try to imagine future generations holding a picture of "aunty Rochelle". Is it going to be my Eiffel Tower pose? Or my mugshot-style passport photo? It just doesn't carry the same value. You don't even have to handle it with care. It's not delicate. It's pixelated. Replaceable. Nothing more than colourful small dots on a plastic screen. Not affected by an old wine stain or tear in the film paper. Just take care not to drop the precious computer.
No comments:
Post a Comment