A Thin Emulsion of Light

May 7 2012

I am looking at snapshots

taken on our old Brownie camera.

They have softened, over time

into grey, and dirty white.

And Kodachrome slides

with primary colours

not found in nature.

These images are not autobiographical

evoke no nostalgia.

Yet their power

is undeniable.

Does it lie in unflinching reality,

a moment in time, precisely captured?

Or is it the impossibility

of the still photograph

I find so compelling?

Because we never experience life

this way.

A frozen moment

that can be scrutinized, interrogated

replayed.

In which the tiny details, the marginalia

have equal weight,

the background, and periphery

we rarely see

or notice.

In which serendipity, and fate

hold sway,

what would have been missed

had the shutter not clicked

that moment.

If only pictures

could be trusted.

If only the black arts

of the dark room

did not make me suspect.

But there is no photographic truth.

Pictures are as fallible

as human memory.

Still, I can’t help but be overwhelmed

by their timelessness.

Challenging the lens

or avoiding its gaze,

candid, or posing stiffly,

these subjects have the weight of permanence,

a dignity, and gravitas

you miss

in real life.

A thin emulsion of light

that is hyper-real, and false

all at once.

Inscrutable faces

that will mutely remain

forever young.