Who are we if not our memories?
A funny thing happens on the way to one’s own antiquity. We try to grab on to the fragments of our life, desperately attempting to slow time down. Sadly, that doesn’t work. Time marches on, slowing for no one.
If we are smart, we surround ourselves with photographs. Photographs of the good times and of our loved ones, reminding us where we came from, who we once were, and who we think we are today.
In the hall of my home, I once had a wall of family photos spanning decades. Images of my parents as young, impressionable lovers, grandparents long gone, pictures of my son at various stages, along with our dogs, in-laws that have fallen into out-laws, and a slightly faded Kodak print of me, a favorite. It was a shot of me at the tender age of four, or there about, with arms folded, already showing signs of defiance and independence. This photographic walk down memory lane was my window into who I was, and gave a nod to the people that added texture to my life. One day my son referred to this area as, “The wall of the dead,” harsh, but partially true. I quickly removed all the photographs. What I didn’t realize at the time was that that wall was my anchor, which mapped out my voyage and my family’s evolution. That innocuous wall, strangely, gave me comfort on my current circuitous journey.
“Memory is what makes our lives. Life without memory is no life at all… Our memory is our coherence, our reason, our feeling, even our action.”
Memories aren’t stagnant, they are a living grab bag of impressions and experiences that define us and fuel our creativity. So why do we bury away our photographs? Why don’t we proudly show off all the phases of our lives?
What if we were to print a few photographs today? Mount them in our favorite frames and carefully arrange them on our shelves. Flood our memory with images, for our memory is our unique story, revealing how we have grown, not aged.
Live in color,