the point of taking pics
After a phenomenal summer of travel and BIG milestone events, I’m thinking a lot about photographs and why we take them. We take them to remember, right? To capture, hang on a bit. Stop time.
Of course we can’t stop time.
I have two sets of beautiful photographs from my big summer. They need to be organized into albums, stories, linear timelines. I love to look at these photos, but each time I pull them out, I’ve drifted further and further away from the stopped point in time when they were taken. I find this obvious little bit of truth so poignant and bittersweet, I don’t know how I’m going to get these albums done.
And then I wonder if I even need to. Because it seems to me that once you’ve seen a photo of your experience, the image becomes a part of your visual memory, and the moment become solidified in your mind. Digging up the photos themselves becomes redundant.
Here’s one I’m sure to remember now that I’ve over-thought all of this today: 
The photo is only visual, but now I am thinking about exactly how it felt to ride camels in the desert in August with my kids. The smell of the hot air. The taste of the Bedouin dinner that night. And the surprisingly frightening height of these camels!
