I often tease my mom about her slow crawl into the digital age. From her strict adherence to CD purchasing, in spite of the semi annual itunes gift cards, to her dissonance toward online shopping. My remarks are almost always rebuffed by her stark claim: "I need something tangible that I can hold in my hand." To which I respond with rolling eyes, as is the responsibility of every kid to such a twentieth century parental argument. But it would seem that my age is beginning to show, because I can't help but feel a little sad about the extinction of the polaroid.
Polaroid announced last year that it would be discontinuing the medium for good. A victim of technological darwinism, the writing has been on the wall for some time. After all, you can't upload them to facebook, or enhance them in photoshop, hell they don't even take "good" pictures. But for a long time they offered a surreal interpretation of our fondest memories.
Long before the advent of mega-pixels and memory cards, one was asked to limit their memories to rolls of 24. Sometimes these would capture a single event, but more often spanned months or even years, only marking the most pertinent moments during that time. As a result, photos acted as triggers for the memory. We were required to fill in the context surrounding it. Leaving our minds to retrace the memory with only a flimsy 4x6 to guide us.
The polaroid brought a whole new element because it was instant (by analog terms anyway). It transcended mere documentation to become part of the moment it was observing. In doing so we manage to preserve both the image and the memory together as one palpable experience. While digital cameras strive human fidelity and detailed realism, polaroids estheticize the moments they capture. Cropping a panoramic world into a soft summary square. Creating a self contained memory, complete with its own albescent frame.
The incessant shaking of the image was part of the ritual, as you anxiously waited to review the instant nostalgia. Their slightly warped images evoked an immediate sentimentality, no matter if it was ten minutes old, or ten years. And the scribbled footnote in the bottom margin was all you had to tell the difference. Even the most inane subjects gained a mysterious relevancy through a polaroid lens. A dirty pair of converse sneakers, or an empty doorway suddenly adopted a romantic tenderness that your eyes never managed to catch.
I have retained a small collection of personal polaroids, and now wish I had more. But I have come to really enjoy looking at others'. There is something intimate about looking at a polaroid you didn't take. You stare at the small image, and it draws you in. You find yourself wondering why the photographer chose to capture this moment. Why did they choose this one over all the others. It is like peeking into another life and sharing a moment that was never yours.
Polaroids will now go the way of vinyl and 16mm film. And so we will go on, trading our physical lives for a series of ones and zeros, ever looking for higher definition and sharper recreation of the world around us. But I can't help looking forward twenty years from now, to showing my kids a polaroid and inherently surrendering to my age, by reminiscing about the days when memories were tangible. And of course... they will roll their eyes.
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