21 November 2008
three years ago, I was in new york with my brother. and while I was there, I bought this little photobooth frame at the 39th street fleamarket. let me tell you, I had to dig through hundreds (and hundreds) of old snapshots to find her. but she was totally worth it. these are the ones that you find at the bottom of the box-- they hide in the cracks, slip in and out of envelopes, piles, fingers. surely it would be easier to dump the box upside down and start my search there. problem is, once I see all those old snapshots, I'm as good as gone. I have to look at every single one of them. yes, I do. and yes, how very OCD of me but I'm sorry, it must be done. I only leave with a few but I have to look at every. last. one. someone needs to. story after story after story, so many stories. they are lost people who need to be seen.
this is what I think:
she was an extraordinary speller and favored the scent of wild violets and coffee.
she kept her valuables in a red shoebox beneath the bathroom sink, behind a stack of mismatched towels.
she had a goldfish named ching ching whom she talked to regularly. though only after she was sure everyone had already gone to bed.
this is what I think. but it could change at any moment. because this is how it is with found photographs. their details are wonderfully mercurial and their stories-- as wide open as the sky.
well hello, photobooth friday. hello there.