Chrisonomicon

Friday, November 3, 2000

Until recently I had despised taking pictures. Everywhere you travel, tourists flock to snap photos, developing little pieces of paper that represent memories of people, places, their experiences, but it always seemed rather defeating because, in the frenzy and preoccupation of getting that perfect picture, weren't they missing the experience itself?

Photos seemed like trophies to me, a way of saying, "Been there, done that." Forget whether there is any meaning behind the picture. I needed meaning behind my images, since, what good is a memory of scrambling to the top of a cathedral to get a picture of the town square if you don't bask in the experience of being there, breathing the air, feeling the rough-hemmed stone under your fingers, talking to the people, enjoying yourself?

I used to feel high and mighty about not needing to take pictures, experiencing my travels without having to worry about my camera, film, angle, lighting, subject matter, flash, or whether I was making a dumbass out of myself by balancing on a statue for a memorable shot. As the years passed, however, the mental pictures didn't last but faded. I reluctantly and cautiously purchased my first camera. Now, when I travel, I take my camera with me and I'm not ashamed to snap photos and, although I'm not impervious to the desire of snapping the perfect shot, I'm still able to separate my photo-taking from my memory-taking. Use them together, that's my advice.