Capturing the moment or missing out?

Some conflicted thoughts and feelings about photography (and life)

May 26, 2024

person taking picture of man wearing brown hat painting — Photo by Ståle Grut on Unsplash

Hello - a bonus post for you this Sunday,

I very nearly called this post ‘why I fell out of love with photography’ but it felt a tad… dramatic. But that’s how I felt about photography for a while. I fell out of love with it, or I felt apathetic towards it. Yet the word apathetic doesn’t quite hit the mark.

Writing this piece was one way for me to explore my thinking about how a hobby that I once truly enjoyed morphed into something I couldn’t stand for a time. It took a while before I felt remotely comfortable with this piece, but I’ve come to realise that sometimes you have to hit publish when you experience that nervous energy in your core. There is something real in that.

Okay, let’s get real and thanks for being here,

Sarah

Late last year, I bought a ticket for an exhibition showing renaissance and impressionist art. It was my first time visiting the museum where the exhibition was being held, and I decided on the day of the event to get some lunch beforehand.

As I sat down at a cafe, I noticed two women on the path nearby taking photos of their dogs. I didn’t think much of this at first, but then became enraptured as the dogs were positioned, repositioned, and then recaptured when one would wander off. There were even dog costume changes!

It was fantastic to watch but it also seemed like a lot of work.

A small crowd had gathered by the time I was ready to leave for the exhibition, who were in turn taking pictures of the scene. As I walked away, it dawned on me that perhaps those dogs were living their best doggy lives, and by extension their owners, who could be making a killing as pet-influencers.

So why am I telling you all of this?

Well, partly as this fairly innocent experience did not prepare me for the exhibition itself, which left me feeling a bit icky about the ubiquitousness of phones and cameras in some spaces.

brown short coated dog in orange hoodie — Ready for my close-up! Photo by Karsten Winegeart on Unsplash

One of the star attractions was front and centre as I entered the exhibition. And to avoid jostling those around me, I hung back but could still make out the painting and just about read the accompanying plaque (a little height has its advantages). A few moments later, a woman appeared by my side and pulled out her phone and began to take some photos. I didn’t have an issue until she held her phone and obscured my view completely. At this, I tapped her on the shoulder and asked if she could move it. She turned around, but it felt like she was looking straight through me. She hadn’t registered that I was there.

I found myself trailing behind the same woman as we, like everyone else were largely following the route laid out by the museum (reminiscent of walking around Ikea). As I followed her, I saw that she would stop, take pictures on her phone of each painting and then move on. My best guess is that she spent less than 10 seconds viewing each piece of artwork. But as I looked around, I saw that the woman wasn’t the only person doing this. A large proportion of people were doing more or less the same thing.

As I continued around the exhibition, I found myself drawn to observing the other attendees. Snap, move on, snap, move on. There was something methodical that left me feeling curious, but I also began to feel uncomfortable. I couldn’t relax as whenever I approached a painting, I risked having the back of my big head in someone’s photo.

It was about half-way through the exhibition when I watched a group of people stage manage their best shot when a question popped into my head about this desire to document our lives that has stuck with me ever since - are we capturing the moment or missing out?

Earlier this year, I read earlier a piece by

Freya India

entitled, ‘You Don’t Need To Document Everything’, where she proposed that people don’t just document events anymore, entire lives and significant moments are captured:

“People document everything now. Every mundane moment of their lives. What they wear. What they eat. What they buy. And as well as the ordinary things people now feel the need to document profoundly personal moments, from health scares to mental breakdowns to their first time seeing a baby after it’s born.”

When I read India’s post, my thoughts jumped to that day in the museum. Documenting paintings in an exhibition doesn’t appear that personally profound to me, but it did seem that the process of documentation was more important than engaging with the artwork:

Were people taking photos to act as markers and timestamps (I was here, I saw this)? Maybe the photos were for family and friends who might be interested? Or they could have acted as a reminder for the person to look up the painting/artist later, or perhaps similar to the women outside taking pictures of their dogs, the photos were for the benefit of the viewers on their social media accounts.

Maybe it was all or none of the above.

However, it felt to me that the camera phone (in this case) had become an extension of their owner’s hands, and acted as a set of eyes too. Also, there was zero regard for the fact that other people (ie., me) may not want to be in their photos!

Consequently, I couldn’t help but think that there was something incongruent about viewing a piece of art (especially a painting that is over 400 years old!), where you take a bunch of photos and then view the painting later on a screen while you’re sat on the sofa or in bed. In that case, why bother going to see the paintings in the first place when you could just Google them?

But then maybe I am missing the point.

And I appreciate that not everyone has the opportunity or means to travel to view particular works of art (in this case of renaissance and impressionist paintings), and this museum did allow photography. So there is that.

person holding black phone — Photo by ROBIN WORRALL on Unsplash

At one point, I wondered if those who were documenting the entire exhibit with their phones would really take the time to look at the photos again. But this question was in part answered when I reached the end of the exhibition.

One of the last exhibits was a series of renaissance prints that were housed in a long glass covered table. I was studying one of the prints when I felt the presence of someone standing close by. I turned and saw my ‘friend’ from the beginning of the exhibition, her phone ready. She wanted to take a photo of the print and was waiting for me to move on.

I have to admit I took my grand old time before stepping back, but then I asked (with my tongue firmly in my cheek): “Do you think you’ll look at those later?”

Without missing a beat, she replied: “Maybe.”

Does it really matter about why the women wanted to document their dog parade? Or why people wanted to photograph every single painting at the exhibition?

Well, no, it really doesn’t matter that much; what other people are taking photos of has nothing to do with me (unless someone sticks a camera in my face when I am trying to view a painting, now that is a different story!), but I was left wondering where this takes us, when the process of documentation is more important than living in the moment.

Plus, why take a gazillion shots when you only ‘might’ look at them later? And who, seriously, has the time to look back at all of the photos!?

I have fallen back in love with photography in recent months, and I have realised that the main reason for this is because I am taking less photos.

To provide more context, I am experiencing the love for photography again because I want to be more intentional about the photographs that I am taking. I don’t want to take a gazillion photos for the sake of it, nor do I see the appeal of going to a particular destination to take photos simply because they might look good on a social media account. My photos are for me, and I share a small number here on Substack or on Instagram. Crucially, I am aware that most people don’t really care about my photography, or about my life.

I returned to India’s piece when I was writing this and I loved how she summed some of this up when she wrote: “Let some memories fade and look back at them through fuzzy nostalgia instead of the cheap glare of an iPhone camera roll.”

You don’t need to document everything, and nor should you feel like you should - your dogs and fellow attendees at museum exhibits may thank you.

The Best of Intentions with Sarah Best

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