There was an article in last week's Washington Post about a new exhibit at the National Gallery of Art called "The Art of the American Snapshot, 1888-1978." The exhibit includes a little over 200 snapshots from the collection of Robert E. Jackson, a businessman in Seattle, who has dedicated part of his free time to collecting old family photos at yard sales, attics, and online auctions. While it makes me sad to think of these lost images up for grabs for pocket change, I love to think that the photos we take because we want to remember something with exact detail really do mean something beyond their intended audience. They are an art form, a way to document reality and personality and memory and wishes.
I think in this era of digital photography, the one where we can take 300 photos in a single day without blinking an eye, it's nice to be reminded of the significance of the snapshot. I have hundreds of snapshots that aren't particularly fantastic technically, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that I have them, that I can study them, that I can tell stories about them to my children and laugh about them with my sisters.
I bet you have a few just like this, too.
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