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Jane Warren's avatar

i loved this! i have been thinking lots about the curation of the photos we post on social media-- our motives behind their selection, and then how they are received and interpreted by viewers who lack any knowledge of the setting/context of the image. while a photo can conjure memories and emotions for the taker, it holds little meaning for the detached social media viewer. like you pointed out, photos dull our experiences down to a two-dimensional plane-- objects, props. for any viewer other than the photographer themselves, a photo's meaning is limited to assumptions made based on visual information. not to mention, we excessively curate the photos we post online; they are the building blocks of our superficial publicized selves, and hold the pressure of painting us as likable and interesting to our followers. this usually results in drastic misinterpretation of who we actually are... photos just can't convey the full complexity and subjectivity of our beings and experiences! thanks for this beautifully articulate piece - it's making me consider what i'm losing each time i remove myself from an experience to take a photo.

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dry's avatar

This is so beautifully written. I am someone who almost obsessively documents every part of my life. I have my pictures backed up to my Google Photos, my middle school assignments are still on some drive somewhere, and I have most of my writing on a Drive. A while ago, I went through all of them and filtered and categorized them properly. I like to say that I do it because I have a poor memory (and I do), and I would like to look back on them years later (and I would, despite cringing).

But I must admit embarrassingly that there is an exhibitionist element to it. I sometimes imagine dying and having my files leaked, and people would read my writing and be fascinated that there was a whole person behind the person. My diary is backed up online and it's filled with some of the most personal and painful writing in it; I would be horrified at anyone reading it, and yet sometimes I find myself penning down entries where I imagine other people reading and quoting and agreeing with me. I find myself curating a work that is not supposed to be read by anyone else, and it impacts what I dare to put down, what I dare to archive.

I don't know if it is the fear of being forgotten, or the desire to matter, to reach out into someone else and take root. I don't know if this almost Truman Show-like phenomenon is only possible because of our digital age of entertainment overexposure, to feel like you must completely dissect (or as you said, taxidermy) yourself to justify your existence. To scream: but I have things to say! I matter! The fear of being forgotten, or worse, misunderstood.

Sometimes I go through my old pictures and I try to remember how I felt at the moment, the person I was at that point. And I can't. Perhaps my backups are not to preserve a memory, perhaps it's more of a mummification. Perhaps it's a cast with all the vulnerable parts removed and polished with gold.

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