So We Were Just Thinking…about History
"Clients don't see themselves in a historical context anymore.
I want to provide something people can show their children, their grandchildren and their great-grandchildren."
-- photographer Kirk Darling on heirloom portraits
The quote above appeared on the cover of the November '07 issue of Professional Photographer magazine which featured the work of photographer Kirk Darling. I saved that particular issue for over two years because his words struck a chord in me, one that still resonates today, both professionally and personally. Every day, I'm involved in the process of documenting important events in people's lives. I'm acutely aware of what an honor this is. While Frank and I like to have fun when we work, we also take our responsibility as a family's photographic historians very seriously. A wedding photographer we admire said, "I don't work for the bride and groom. I'm working for their children and their grandchildren." I love this. It's a thought that I carry with me when I'm working. A professional photographer must be constantly aware that the images captured on the wedding day or during a portrait session will become a part of family history.
So today, we're thinking about history and asking one specific question: what will be your photographic legacy?
The part of Darling's statement that really caught my attention is his belief that "clients don't see themselves in a historical context anymore." Sadly, I have to agree. I can't remember the last time a potential client said to me, "I want a portrait I can show my children and grandchildren." That sentiment may underlie the reason for seeking out a photographer, but I rarely hear it spoken out loud. In wealthier families, it used to be common to have portraits painted. You think having your picture taken is no fun -- try sitting still for days on end while a portrait artist painted you. Yet it was recognized as a worthwhile undertaking. And I don't think it was done just to have something pretty to hang over the mantle piece. The knowledge was there that while the portrait would be hung in a place of honor and enjoyed in the present, one day, possibly when the subject of the painting was no longer living, that the portrait would become something even more precious...it would become a family heirloom.
Let's focus on that word -- heirloom -- for a moment. A quick Google search brought me this definition: something of great intrinsic value that has been in the possession of a family or culture for many generations. If I asked you to stop what you're doing and make a list of your family's heirlooms, what would be on that list? My list would be soberingly short. I don't possess any furniture, linens, books, or jewelry that I would consider heirlooms that have been handed down to me over the generations. Unless...you count photographs. Photographs I have. But my treasury of family photographs are snap shots, your run-of-the mill studio portraits and my parents' wedding photos. They're certainly not wall portraits. When my children were both nine months old, we had the photographer who documented our wedding do portraits of them in a very classical, traditional style. I clearly remember wanting something that would stand the test of time and be treasured for generations. Their portraits fall into that category of "If your house was on fire, what would you grab first?" importance.
Over the years, the pictures got smaller. We filled our walls with 8x10s and those ubiquitous frames with multi-opening mats, creating collages rather than portraits. Now, most of our images reside online. Not long ago, a drive that stored at least three years of personal photographs crashed. While I am fanatical about backing-up the files of clients, I'd become a slacker where personal family photos were concerned. I always intended to back them up on a portable hard drive and print the best ones. Now those precious images are gone. G-O-N-E. There's no recovering them. It makes me sick every time I think about it. How many of you are in the same boat? Are we all as a society relying on Facebook and fragile computer hard drives to safely house our memories? When was the last time anyone pulled out a wallet to show you a picture? Now we pull out iPhones. The ease with which we can store and share images through electronic media is amazing, convenient, fun...and dangerous. Suppose you see a friend from college you haven't seen in years and you want to show off photos of your kids. You pull out your phone, only to discover the battery is dead. Frustrating, right?
One of the things I love the most about Facebook is the ability to quickly and easily share photos with my friends online. But if I'm just leaving the photos there, never backing them up or printing them, what happens if one day Facebook gets hacked or goes away completely? This week, I challenge each of you to have prints made of your favorite images from the holidays. Put them in a book, hang them on the wall, but get them off of your computer and into a physical form that you can hold in your hands that doesn't depend on a battery to be able to see it. (If you want to be absolutely certain those prints will last, don't print them on a home printer. Go to a professional lab. But more on that in a later post.)
Here's why I want you to do this.
In the photo above, my children are holding a reproduction of a photograph of their great-great-grandmother Hannnah and their great-great-great-grandparents Emma and Albert. I never knew them; my children certainly never will. Photographs of them are all that we have now. Your great-great-great-grandchildren are going to be curious about you. What are you leaving for them to know you by?
-- Elizabeth & Frank
