History. Pictures.

I’ve just printed about 60 proof sheets. The last 60 or so rolls I’ve developed. In looking at that many, putting them in order, putting them away, I got a glimpse of history. History of the last year of my life. Pictures is how I keep track of time and events. I don’t write the date on every roll of film just for a convenient way to catalog. I do it so I’ll know when that thing happened. I just saw 2004 all at once. Got to see when the last time I saw certain people. When that friend came to town with his gal. When that other friend had that going away gathering before moving far away, and when she came back for a quick visit. When I ran into that woman I hadn’t seen in years, and we spent the last night she had in town together before she went back home. When I went out drinking with some friends shortly before they all got clean and sober. When my old boss opened his short lived guitar store. That art show in that bar. The night we made out in the middle of Ave A. The last night we spent together. Tax day protests outside the post office. Mom’s birthday dinner. 5AM pierogies.
The weekend in the woods, by a lake, with blazing fires at night. Making a new friend. Dad’s play. 4th of July on the roof thinking we should be shooting back at the other roofs. December 1st dinner. Cousin’s birthday. Watching the cats. The baby. The wedding. The protests. The protests. The protests. Sometimes I’m afraid that if I don’t take pictures, I won’t have a history. I wonder if, someday, I’ll forget how to remember because a camera does it for me.