A Picture of My Past

We're on the road again, visiting my husband's family in Memphis for a long weekend. The drive is about 12 hours from Detroit and one I've come to know fairly well now. As I barreled down the highway with cruise control set on our spunky little rental, I couldn't help but wish that my eyes had the capacity to record, like a camera. The wish first struck me when we were driving through New England and I wanted desperately to capture what it looks and feels like to be driving through winding back country roads. We set up our digital camcorder in various and sundry ways and only managed to record the dizzying passage of trees, pavement and every single bump along the way. Why could the camera not honestly record the journey? Why do our eyes see the whole picture? Why is that third dimension so vital to getting a sense of a place?

I understand the adage that a picture is worth a thousand words every time I try to sit down and describe an experience. A photo can describe what was next to what, how objects and people are arranged, but it gives a Johnnie Paper description of a place and person in time. What may take thousands of words is worth the telling if only for the gentle nuance that a voice can give to an event. A photo can't tell you that the mood at the wedding was tense because the best man was drunk and the bride and groom fought in front of all the guests. Words may be cumbersome but can still more accurately transport an outsider there.

I'm not discounting pictures, don't misunderstand. I think that the truest snapshot of a thing is done with both words and photos. If someone has never been to Mozambique and has never seen any photos of life there, a photo-less description relies on that person's imagination to paint that picture and imaginations are varied in their complexity and fitness.

So, I will be trying to take more photos, being far more a woman of words than images, and will be making use of my new darling flickr account.