id: 9882355
Most of my childhood and early teenage photos are black and white ones. Was it because a color film was a rarity in those days, or was it a photographer’s aesthetic preference?
Looking at old photos - where you’re five, or fourteen, or eighteen years old, involuntarily evokes memories, coming from the depths of your soul.
Along with sounds, and smells and colors.
As if you open a window, and instead of a grey, ill-lit, cold winter room you suddenly get into a colorful, happy, and loud spring day.
These small black and white pieces of carton record just one, and only one short moment. A moment of that very day, or summer, or year. Whereas our memories preserve the whole context. Something that this small card cannot keep: the knee you scraped the day before, or the beautiful hue of your favourite red bow, or a love confession that will only happen tomorrow.
That is probably the reason why, after so many years, I wanted to add some small details to my old photos: I am the only one who knows the context.
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