One nice thing about LinkedIn is that I was able to run into London-based blogger
Mark Dandridge, and yes, his blog is now on my blogroll. This Monday, he made a post referring in part to the
volume of one's cultural product output, prompted by the discovery of an old digital photo memory card, that made me think.
Finding the memory card got me thinking about some old undeveloped film catridges I have that date back at least 6 years. I keep meaning to get them developed. They may have faded to grey by now. It'll be interesting to find out one of these days what I had photographed back then. I'm sure when I see the developed pictures it will be easier for me to work out how long the film catridges have been hanging around in a cupboard. The old days of taking photographs was a very different experience to the non-stop, click-fest that you often see these days. It would be interesting to take an old SLR out along with a digital camera and take a maximum of 24 or 36 pictures with each. Of course, with the SLR camera it would be functioning in the way it has always done but things would be very different for the digital camera.
The forgotten memory card, upon which I found the flower picture, is the smallest memory card I have. That's probably why I had forgotten all about it. It wasn't lost, just overlooked. It's 256MB which is still capable of holding around 69 pictures on the finest quality. Somehow the digital revolution has made less seem, well, even less, than it really should. I think 69 pictures is quite a lot. Just one look at a Facebook picture upload of a drunken night out, a wedding, a new born baby and you can often see way more than 69 pictures, where quite often, just 9 would be ample. I must start that '36 Exposures Only' Facebook Group. It may already exist. I'm off to check.
I like selectivity. Take my photos. This evening I uploaded a couple dozen photos to
my Flickr account. These photos are survivors, having first made it past prescreening on my camera, then being checked out for more flaws after they were copied to my laptop, then the photos deemed worthy of uploading to Flickr were checked out one last time in the source directory where I'd shrink them to a workable size before submitting them to the view of the public. Less than one in five of the photos that I take make it to Flickr, probably less, while the number of blog posts I make are likewise only a fraction of what I might think at first I'd like to make. A couple of people have talked to me about how digital photography has changed photography from an art into a mere technique, just another form of electronic gadgetry that annihilates tradition and produces excessive volume, noise even. There's something to be said for that.
I also like abundance. Take this blog, which can easily feature a half-dozen posts a day, brief though they might be. Take the photo posts, which frequently include multiple photos. There's a lot out there in the world that deserves to be shared, and if the effort is conceivably worth it why not? I might not share everything, but what I do share I like very significantly indeed. I'm a person very much into preserving things, details, especially insofar as they concern the past and inform my present and future. I'm pretty sure that, somewhere, I still have the disposable cameras which record part of my August 2003 trip to Montréal en route to Queen's University in Kingston. I would so like to have these cameras survive and produce usable images, and not only so I could share them with you. Everything counts in small amounts.
How should I combine my desires for selectivity and abundance? I'm inclined to think that the way I handle things is the only way that I can tolerate doing things. I share with you the things important to me, this importance deriving from whatever reasons, and the idea of ratcheting down--or up--the number of items I care about leaves me uncomfortable, leaves me thinking of depression or else mania. It's tricky.
In the meantime, that 36 Exposures Only group on Facebook sounds like fun. Does it exist yet, I wonder?