Branches

I upgraded to a digital SLR—a Canon Digital Rebel XT—last summer. I bought it with enough time to learn how to use it well before our wedding and honeymoon in September. I chose the Canon over the comparable Nikon because it’s lighter and slightly smaller. Even so, compared with all the pocket cameras these days, it’s a big device, made even bigger by any respectable carrying case. So while I’m hesitant to use the word “lugged,” that’s essentially what I did with it in Curaçao, and in Jonesborough in October, and in Thailand in January. And I got some great shots out of it.

When it came time to pack the camera for Austin, I paused. SXSW is clearly one of the most documented events of its kind, with all those gadget freaks and camera junkies running around, especially when you consider it on a shots-per-person basis. (And even more especially when you consider it on a camera-per-person basis.) Why did I need to add my efforts to the mix? There were a number of scenes of photographic gluttony during last year’s conference that were a hair’s breadth away from making me want to check into digital rehab. I was certain that come this year, any event that I wanted memorialized would be captured by someone else, and easily accessible via the web.

But there was another reason, too. A common lament from the fogies is that we yutes can’t experience anything these days if not through the prism of an LCD screen. Though I find this to be little more than crotchety fist-wagging, I am just as guilty as the next addict, so I wanted to see what it was like to change gears and leave the camera at home.

I gotta say, it wasn’t easy. My instinct to grab a camera at the first sign of interest has worn a deep path in my muscle memory. But after a few days of resistance, I started to ease up and actually enjoy the freedom of just … watching. It was strangely comfortable. I felt the lifting of a special kind of anxiety, and by giving myself permission to watch without capture, I was this much closer to achieving the Zen spot of social interaction.

The interesting thing is, I’m not sure I’d do it again. What I realized, after I got home, is that we often shoot photos to remember them later on, but the real purpose is, well, to paraphrase Coudal’s grandfather: I shoot photographs to remember them now.

It’s the act itself that makes the impression on the brain. Okay, it’s the act, plus the immediate analysis, and the upload to flickr, and the days of subsequent review to see who’s commented on them. And while that can be a bit much sometimes, I’m certain it enhances the overall experience, at least from the vantage point of the future me, looking back.

I immediately felt the lack of that element when I got home from SXSW this year. Sure, I could look up thousands of other people’s photos of the same event, but not a single one have a connection to my memories. It’s not that I want photographs to serve as a replacement of memory; I want them there as a hook for a way in. My brain’s got a lot of stuff in it. Until I commit myself to a monkish life of unpossession, I’m not ashamed to admit I need some help accessing stuff once it’s buried in there.