I’ve been thinking a lot today about the temporary nature of.. well, everything. I suppose it started with the idea to buy a Polariod (and thereby committing to spending endless hours on eBay with relative futility attempting to purchase film) and the strange idea that when it is gone.. it is gone. There will be a point where somebody on this earth will take the very last Polaroid. Of course, yes, this is qualified by the assumption (and I’m pulling for Save Polariod as much as anyone else) that nobody will pick up patents and contracts and start making it again. I’m thinking that this may be an interesting project, a good website to set up. I want to know, that when it comes down to the last photo in the last pack, what do you think is important to take a picture of? When the temporary, easy, fast and accessible has given way to lasting, precious and protected, is it still easy and fast?
This has been extending to me (not the fast and easy, I assure you) and my body. I love my body, with all of its combinations of dissecting scars and anomolies and missing parts and working parts and failing parts – but it too is creeping inevitably to the end. The collagen in my cheeks, the muscles in my legs, my hearing, my sight; they too move towards a point where they will last see, kiss, walk, listen and lift me. But in a strange way, my camera and my body cross purposes and intents – it becomes not the last that is important, but the previous, the worth of my frame and memories every minute prior to the last that makes the last nothing but an end.
So a picture, a Polariod of my body, crosses axis. It is a moment in time where both decline, with inverse worth to everything prior. Here’s hoping that that is my one good photo.
(photos courtesy of the amazing Kotama Bouabane and their project, Melting Words.)