The local newspaper will run a story this week on my knitting for the film Tell Them of Us. The writer emailed me late on Thursday and asked whether they could come to the house and take a photo of me knitting. (Action shot of the century, right?) I thought I would save them a bit of time and do a photo. It will save me more cleaning time, plus it will save them a trip to my house for what would probably be only 10 minutes of work (compared to the 25-minute drive one way).
Photographs are such a tiny slice of a person’s life. Generally we take photos only on special occasions: weddings, birthdays, holidays, and nearly any family gathering. For the most part, everyone is dressed a little better and acting perhaps a bit better than they would on any other day.
Not that this is a bad thing.
The ubiquitous selfie, however, seems to be changing that. I sometimes like that spur-of-the moment snap, the photo of lunch or of the dogs on the bed or hair looking very weird in the morning. It captures “real” life, if only for a second before the plate of food is no longer presentable, the dogs tend to self-grooming, and someone grabs a comb and a curling iron.
I think that life has moments of profound artistry, even if the moment isn’t posed or pretty. We should celebrate that.
And I will. Just as soon as I’ve folded the rest of the laundry (which is on the other side of the room from this photo).