"In the end, when I sift through these photos, I start to wonder if that line between holding tightly and giving up isn't so discouraging after all."
I bought a disposable camera a few months ago with the intention of taking pictures of all the things I love most. I became fascinated by the contrast of images of people, places and things I hold so permanently in my heart captured by something we give and throw away, never to be seen again. For me, it was an idea that represented the frailty of life, the thin line between being here and being gone forever.
But like all projects, this one steered a course of its own. It became a sort of communal endeavor, picked up by other people I love. My original idea, however, did not change — all the photos capture a little piece of something loved. Because film, in all it's grainy glory, is devoid of the modern luxury of immediacy, we're forced to consider images more carefully. In a way, film encourages premeditated love.
In the end, when I sift through these photos, I start to wonder if that line between holding tightly and giving up isn't so discouraging after all. By sending off the throw-away camera — even though it holds all these precious memories — we begin to see that sometimes letting go can mean getting back something better.