Capturing the Uncapturable

a photo gallery

The photo book I got for Christmas still has that fresh new book smell. I am leaning back, feet on my coffee table, book spread out across my lap. I am breathing in that smell, letting my eyes inhabit each photo. The multidisciplinary artist Vincent Delerm created this book as a letter to Paris. It is made up of photos he took and scraps of paper on which he wrote the letter, which is also the lyrics to the song Paris, which is the song version of the book. Basically it is a feast for all the senses, cloth bound and cerulean blue. I have another book next to me, bound in red velvet. Father by Diana Markosian is a collection of photos documenting the artist’s reunion with her long-estranged father. The story, heartbreaking and personal, is told with very few words. She mostly lets the photos do the talking. While Delerm’s book has its own soundtrack, Markosian’s has its own unbreakable silence. Both are wonderful.

“I knock on his door. It’s been 15 years. ‘Can I help you?’ a man asks. I am Diana, your daughter.’” - from Father by Diana Markosian

spreads from Father

Il y avait cette chanson Bleu comme toi
J’avais l’impression que ça parlait des soirs d’été
La ville déserte
Que c’était comme dans cette publicité des années quatre-vingt
Le garçon quitte sa chambre au dernier étage en passant par les toits
Il rejoint une fille avant la nuit et je voulais cette vie-là

From Paris by Vincent Delerm

spreads from Paris

I shot another roll of film in March. As soon as I started capturing these scenes of everyday life on film I found it hard to stop. Every day the light will hit something in such a way that I stop in my tracks and reach for the camera.

lemon plums set up for a still life

early evening light in the bedroom

plastic cup of milk and half-eaten grocery store croissants by the pool

a mess of color and delicate reflections

view through the garage window

my grandma’s house in Los Angeles

In this post I asked you to send me photos of life in wonderful light, and I received these ones by Emily Smith which are exactly that.

“After a few mornings of being struck by how the 7 a.m. light came through the flowers and the hanging lamp, I got out my camera the night before so that I’d remember to use it. I’m not a morning person, but morning light is one of my truest favorite things.”

“I think I was trying to use up the film roll when I took this one. Late afternoon in my parents’ backyard--shadows of jasmine--our dog probably just out of frame. I like this one very much.”

I will end with two photos taken by my sister last month on film. Her photos have been one of my biggest inspirations to pick up my camera again. They are full of softness and wonder.

When I take the time to look closely at photographs I think it strengthens my ability to look closely at what’s in front of me in general, and to appreciate it more. On an evening walk a few nights ago I noticed the sky was a rich, velvety blue-green color that would be impossible to ever capture. Most things we get to experience as humans are impossible to fully capture, but I love the creative instinct we have to at least attempt it. Maybe we only end up with small pieces, stories condensed into incomplete fragments, but they are beautiful fragments with much to say.