Looking out. photo by Elizabeth G Aakre

1 comment:

  1. There are perhaps no words to accurately describe how amazing and elizabeth was at taking pictures.

    She could take one theme, one idea, one perspective that previously seemed only possible to see with one's eye, and would expose it with her camera.
    she could capture an emotion, fully formed, messy, indescribable, in one frame.
    I think she was aware of this skill, even though she was never prideful or boasted about it. She worked for hours to get the exact effect she wanted from a picture, like tilling land for fertile soil. or something like that.

    Her taste in others' photos was similarly indescribably exact, although constantly changing. Gedney, Vachon, Frank, Rothstein. All of these people i had never heard of, but now cannot understand how i lived before knowing about them.


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How Dina Aunty relished her memories. Mummy and Daddy were the same, talking about their yesterdays and smiling in that sad-happy way while selecting each picture, each frame from the past, examining it lovingly before it vanished again in the mist. But nobody ever forgot anything, not really, though sometimes they pretended, when it suited them. Memories were permanent. Sorrowful ones remained sad even with the passing of time, yet happy ones could never be re-created—not with the same joy. Remembering bred its own peculiar sorrow. It seemed so unfair: that time should render both sadness and happiness into a source of pain.

> From A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry