my camera eats first
on memory, living in the moment and my love for photography (apologies to millie bobby brown )
It seems as though I have made myself into a hypocrite. One minute I’m lecturing my six month old cousin, telling him cautionary tales about those sticky I-pad kids with starving attention spans, only to hop on a flight the next day, constantly fumbling in my tote bag. “Yes that rock in the corner is your camera, no you have not left it behind”. You know, the way you shake your bag in the air, hoping to hear that melodic jingle so you can go on with your day knowing you haven’t locked yourself out of the house, again.
At first the two situations may not seem comparable, the latter is an inconvenience of great severity, especially when everyone of use seems to be indisposed as soon as you realise your mistake. Forgetting your camera only means you must rely on your eyes, hoping for once you manage to burn things into your memory, knowing full well that any attempts to replicate this moment will fail to resemble its true nature. But for me, forgetting my camera has far greater consequences.
You see, for as long as I can remember, I have been a faithful historian, documenting pivotal moments in some form or another. Whether it’s scribbles in the corner of a notebook, soon to be lost in a pile of other closed chapters, choppy montages I made in 2014 with the iMovie soundtrack (we thank the universe for the rapid speed of technological advancements), or on 35mm film, I must document. Maybe it’s because of all the moving. Whenever we can’t find something at home, we often say “it’s been lost in the move”. You might be tempted to ask, was it the move from Lagos to Amsterdam , Amsterdam to London , London back to Lagos (I can’t keep up), or the return to London ? We don’t know. All I can tell you is a pair of black jeans, countless favourite books and a couple dolls have been lost to “the move”. I can sacrifice the Urban Outfitter denim, it was going to shrink anyway, but I will resist the memories fading every chance I get.
That’s the other thing, I am painfully aware of the fallibility of the human body let alone our minds. When my essential tremors first presented itself, I consulted Doctor Google immediately. I try not to be a hypochondriac, so I stayed away from the links describing symptoms of early onset dementia and other grave neurological diseases and decided right there and then that it must be essential tremors, the safest neurological mishap. The one that Catherine Hepburn had. But the thought was always in the back of my mind. I thought about it constantly, throughout my MRI, the thoughts louder than the mechanical drum of that hollow device, whilst they took my blood, even when the neurologist told me it I was correct. The thought of there being anything at odds with my mind bothers me to no end. I rely on it for too much, especially my memory. There is no greater anchor in my life than that provided by my ability to submerge myself in the past, so that the present woes may not haunt me as they do. Second only to the comfort found in building dreams from those same memories, in order to avoid the past. There is a symbiosis at work here and it must not be disturbed.
So we arrive at the inspiration for this essay: my solo trip. The threat of compromised internet safety has been looming over my head, so if you follow me on tiktok you know I haven’t posted anything about it. By the time you’re reading this, the coast should be clear so, I can say with confidence that I went to Annecy for a couple days. Interestingly enough, I haven’t mentioned anything on my private instagram either. I’ve really tried to be intentional with my time here, making up fun little rules like once I leave my room for the day, I’m not allowed to return till sundown. I’ve limited my consumption of “filler” media and made sure to keep a book on me at all times. Perhaps, posting about it feels like exploitation and inviting spectatorship feels like intrusion. Nonetheless, I have countless photos and videos eating away at my storage.
My Canon G7x has been put to work and towards the beginning of the trip I felt the guilt creep in. What would happen if I came on this trip and didn’t take a single picture ? What harm would occur if I couldn’t capture the way the mountain’s edge pierced the sky ? Or if the crystal waters were left where they were ? I debated it for a while. What does it mean to truly live in the moment ? That train of thought lasted all but 20 minutes before I received the texts; sister harassing me for photos.
Ultimately I decided what good is all this inner debate if it’s stopping me from doing what I came to do ? All I want to do is enjoy myself. At the end of the day, photography brings me immense satisfaction and joy. Sharing it with others, my family in particular, provides it in tenfold.
And so I guess I’ve stumbled upon the answer for why my camera must “eat” before I do. I’ve experienced liberty like I’ve never known, constraints have quite literally been thrown to the wind, and I now know what it is to feel peace emerge from within. When they ask me how my day was or what it felt like, I will pull out the photos and say “look !” because that is my aim; for the photos to evoke feeling. I can write as much as I want, trick words into song but nothing can do what the eyes do. Maybe if they see, they will understand, so we might share one more thing. So I wait eagerly for their responses, like a child looking up to the parent with longing in their face, waiting for a smile or nod of approval. If they do not see what I saw, I see it as a failure.
It sounds dramatic, but I’m calling myself a writer these days so I’m allowed to take certain liberties. I can still live in the moment, it just so happens that my camera is part of that. Trying to pretend otherwise would be laborious, and eventually the moment will become eclipsed by my overwhelming need to have my finger on that shutter-release button.
And that’s that. Sorry about the impromptu hiatus I took from the newsletter, I missed last week’s post because I was ensnared by writer’s block. I will be writing all about the trip so expect an in depth review very very soon (and the accompanying photos)
P.s I am suddenly reminded of the song from the Hello Dolly Musical “It Only Takes A Moment”. It has little relation to the essay, apart from the mention of moments. However, it is one of my favourite musicals so I’m tempted to link it below anyway.
See you soon ppl !!