What thoughts might come

Jean and Charlotte Potter, posted on Flickr courtesy of
the Bain News Service and the Library of Congress

I follow the Library of Congress photostream on Flickr, who has undertaken the enormous and likely unending task of digitizing its massive catalog of photos from the 19th and 20th centuries. I find the collection fascinating from the perspective that the depictions can be just as real and lively as a modern-day image. But the greatest difference today is the lack of context and metadata that surrounds the image, relative to the thoughts and comments left by people like you and me.

Take Jean and Charlotte Potter. These women (likely sisters?) are depicted in repose at the beach. Charlotte (I think is on the right?) is cradling a dog; she shares the same outfit with her sister, from hat to checkered blazer to white trousers.

What alludes me is their story. I can only imagine the precociousness of the dog and its cradling owner, but I am only speculating from the thin smile she holds that pauses the camera lens. Perhaps her sister is bashful, lowering her head, but she might also have been shamed or outwitted by her younger sister, causing a momentary downward glance. There are only archival tags associated with this image - no comments from the subjects themselves of their family and friends - although it's possible that Jean and/or Charlotte are still alive to provide comment (although this photograph dates over 100 years ago). These are all interpretations and reflections that remain mysterious to the moment at hand, captured so long ago.

The mystery can be enchanting and enthralling. And some day, the mountain of photos that I have taken might be interpreted in a similar way by someone just as removed as I am from this photo. Perhaps the record of these words will live on only to the point where the server that Google runs decides to quit or corrupt the data, at which point these words vanish, too. What thoughts might come from the wisps of this notion, that stirs the soul to leave more permanent relics (and perhaps back up this precious data!).

Comments

Party Like It's 1999

A coworker sent me a meeting invitation to the end of the world. Fitting. I'm not sure if I should accept or not (suppose it depends on your views of the end of the Mayan calendar ), but somehow it reminded me of the Prince song on a related subject . Fitting as well that this coworker was not born when Prince extolled the virtues of partying like it's 1999 (side note: I did party like it's 1999 while studying abroad in Milan at that time, which was a heady experience with the coming of the Euro and all. How times have changed, how the mighty have fallen...). Time change, sometimes faster than we think, and our cultural references become dated. Perhaps just like the Mayan calendar falling out of fashion over the last few centuries, until its end becomes a modern cultural phenomenon - or not, depending on your view of things. In either case, it's worth partying like it's 1999 regardless because hey, it will be Friday when this all goes down, and Fridays

New York Pause

Heading to the Helmsley Sometimes I work in NYC, and this is my office. More precisely, there is a desk in the upper floors of this distinctive building that has a major thoroughfare running through it that I inhabit while typing up documents and conducting meetings in the city. It is nothing exceptional, usually the work and sometimes the desk at which I sit, but the surrounding city is commanding, ever-thriving, and never-still. If I pay close enough attention, I am reminded of the countless things that make this city unique among the many cities I have had the pleasure to live in and visit. But on this brisk morning, when winter gusts barrel down Park Avenue as I hustle the blocks from Lex to the building entrance security guards, I pause long enough to snap this picture. That pause is enough reminder that I am lucky to be here, and New York City is ready to give me its best shot (I'm still not sure if the city is better personified male or female). But that is all t

In Memory of Rose

Pets have an uncanny ability of ingraining themselves into the fabric of a household, so much so that their disappearance can cause great grief and disorientation to their owners. Such is the case with Rose, who passed from our household on Sunday. An older dog when we took her in to our home last year, Rose was supposedly the runt of her litter, a fact confirmed by her diminutive 5-pound Pomeranian frame - too small for her breed but too big to be classified a "teacup." This suited her just fine, however, as she came to embody a singular personality as a dog among people, often little acknowledging some dogs and appearing frightened by others just as a hesitant human being might act around jumpy canines. Rose embodied all of what defines unconditional love. She was raucous when we would leave the house and even more raucous when we returned, partly due to separation anxiety but mostly due to her sadness and excitement of being around us; she let us know her affection b

Journal : OpenRoadWorks

Search This Blog