daBlog by goddess101

Random Micro-Rant

The Evils of Serial Photography

I was watching a program the other day about the search for the Afghan girl. Probably National Geographic's most popular cover girl, her story of survival after a Russian attack is inspirational. See this article for the full story.

What is also quite amazing is how we have come to know this girl, or even care about her, all through this one photograph. For at least a full hour following the broadcast, I was on the internet trying to find out more about this girl, the photograph and the photographer. I just couldn't get enough.

Anyway, I was taking a walk along the canals a couple of days later. And I came across two tourists, presumably a husband and wife, both armed with digital cameras. They were photographing a building in the distance–which one, I don't really remember. What struck me odd was here were these two people, capturing the exact same building, in the exact same angle, and so what? I mean, would they look back on these photographs, or even just one of these photographs, and think, That was really some building? I'm so happy we captured it and now we can keep it digitally on our hard drives forever! Realistically? No.

Especially with digital photography becoming more and more popular, we have gotten into the habit of snapping pictures we wouldn't have otherwise taken. No longer are we waiting for that special moment to capture, because we no longer have to worry about wasting expensive film and spending tons of money to develop it. Instead, taking a photograph effectively costs us nothing. The photos we don't like can easily be deleted. The photos we do want, we like to Photoshop unwanted pixels away. And why not? Digital cameras have given us a certain amount of photographic power we've never had before–the ability to shape our view of the world into something more pleasing to us.

That's all good. But back to the Afghan girl, the unknown building captured by the tourists, and the point I'm trying to make. What made the image of the Afghan girl so memorable for us is not the fact that she was some random girl at a refugee camp; it was the story the image told about this particular survivor. Here was a 12-year-old girl, in a battered burka, dirty, probably orphaned, but whose mesmerizing green eyes were filled with nothing but strength and resolve. Steve McCurry, the photographer, picked this girl for a reason: he had a story to tell about the struggles of the Afghans, and she was the best person to tell it.

Contrast that with the picture of the unknown building. What's the story there? What's the significance? Um, perhaps it would go like this:

Yes, me and my wife were not getting along with each other that day, but we had to see the rest of Amsterdam and take pictures to prove to everyone who sees our pictures that we were actually there. We saw this building, and it looked like it was significant, so I took a picture of it. My wife thought I was not doing a good job it and that is why she took a separate photograph of the same unknown building. You can compare the different pictures on our websites. Anyway, that is the story.

Ok, maybe that wasn't the case, but do you see what I mean? Taking a photograph of something that does not strike you in any way, is not truly interesting to you, or does not intend to capture an emotion or memory is evil. Photography itself is like a mini miracle. It's like a gateway to our past. So to treat a photograph like a trophy seems awfully wrong. And to do it repeatedly, like many tourists, a.k.a. serial phographers, do, is even worse. I always want to yell at tourists, "Stop looking through your camera. You should be here to experience a new country, not stare at it through a lens!"

Some of this talk reminds me of The Blair Witch Project. One of the characters is ALWAYS behind the camera filming, even in moments of stress and fear. It was like her way of separating herself from real life. It seemed experiencing life through a camera made the horrors not so scary. It just makes me wonder, we're experiencing life more and more through cameras, tv screens, computer screens, lcd screens on our mobiles... are we trying to distance ourselves from our own everyday horrors too?

Joys of Interviewing

I just caught myself having a conversation with the mirror.

I had come back from a job interview, the third since I've been here in Amsterdam, and I'm just getting a kick out of observing my own behavior right now.

I'm normally a very reserved person. I don't say much unless someone starts a conversation with me. I'm not a storyteller. I'm the type of person who likes to listen to others, perhaps inject my own comments and on rare occasion even offer an anecdote. But usually people call me the quiet one, the type who has a bit of mystery about them because they don't talk much about themselves.

So, I think it's extremely funny, after having spent an hour telling tales to these two suits about my previous job experience and how I came to be in Holland, to now be talking about myself in a very animated way TO MYSELF. In some ways, I suppose, I'm trying to relive the interview experience, going over my answers to make sure they sounded ok, perfecting them for when/if I go in for a second interview. But this may be also the case of when it rains, it pours! The floodgates have been opened!

This behavior has always been quite interesting to me. I remember acting this way for the last interview several months ago, and I didn't return to my normal reserved self until 3 or 4 days later. But I think now I'm understanding and getting a little insight into why people just love talking about themselves so much. I realize it's like having psychological sex with yourself, a sort of mental masturbation if you will (don't you just love that alliteration?). It's something that's not really encouraged, but you do it cuz it feels real good. I mean, talking about your past accomplishments, convincing others how great you are–it's addictive, man. But now I prolly realize why I don't do it too often.... it's all one big mind f*ck, isn't it?