The Blink of an Eye
by Karen Krueger
More often than not I’m disappointed with the packages of photographs I have developed. It's not that they do a poor job of finishing my pictures; it’s just that it’s a rare occasion the image I hold in my hand matches the one I hold in my head.
It may take a while to use up a roll of film but once that last picture is taken I strip the film from the camera and rush to have it developed. I am picky about the size and finish and who develops my film. An hour later I stand at the counter with an envelope full of prints and a mind full of frustration. As I shuffle through the photos it is clear that I am not seeing what I saw.
Instead of a tremendous, blazing, sunset I see a tiny unrecognizable speck, a white blur that was a silver moon, closed eyes, shadowed faces, turned heads and no smiles. Colors are muted and objects I didn’t see stand as icons in the backgrounds. All the imperfections I missed now stand boldly documented before me. I am forced to admit I didn’t really see at what I saw.
Kodak paper and the mind hold images differently, the downtown developer uses a different technique to hold the image than does my brain. And the camera, well, I guess the camera and I really don't see eye to eye. When I blinked I held the image as I wanted it to be, perfect. When the camera blinked it held the image as it really was - a reality bite. So why do I keep torturing myself with these pictures?
Because those package of prints also hold things I didn’t see. And sometime it’s an image perfectly frozen in time. The picture affords me the opportunity to look at what I missed. I am able to take the time to find tiny perfections that had escaped my blinking eyes. Details I missed by the closing of my eye but the camera caught in the opening of its’. It's the promise of pictures like this, which drive me to have my film processed so quickly. You see, I’m in a hurry to see what I missed.