Polaroids...

I wonder if I should be thankful that much of my youth will remain, photographically speaking, unexposed. The deficit of today's pocket camera and/or iPhone means that memories are only bestowed on those people who I was with at the time and/or are held solo in my grey cells. Should I envy the kids of today, where every second is recorded, edited, and sent across the networks? Not really. 

My uncle William handed me down my first camera, and it was the instant variety, a used Polaroid SX-70 in a cream case with the rainbow colour band; it was the one-shot only red button and a flash. The boxed film cartridges, enough for 10 photos, were costly, so you tended to be careful about how many times you snapped your amigos or took a saucy moment in time. Once the camera ejected the sheet, there was always a sense of excitement waiting for the film to develop and dry before your eyes between the white borders, and there were several tricks of waving them in the air to speed up the process or covering them to slow it down. The quality was retro-milky and imperfect and marked the era beautifully. 

It is good that most Polaroid pictures were then ditched, snatched by one of the sitters, passed on to one person, or vanished by fading time. That is and was the appeal. 

Polaroids ground our fascination with the instant moment and the now. The square format and filters of early Instagram posts even mimicked the aesthetic of Polaroid photos, creating a bridge between the old and new forms of instant photography. Instagram became the new Polaroid, a digital space where people could share moments instantly with the world. The convenience of digital photography, where images can be stored, edited, and shared, fills the world with an image legacy—I suppose they will be out there forever.

This week's edit features selfies and snapshots that populate the summer pages—we've picked out pics that tell a story of our places from a different lens and maybe your next pitstop.

My past adventures, encounters and rendezvous are all but a faint memory - thankfully, there are no candid ghosts of my teenage years in the closet unless you were there 👾. 

Hugs

Iain & Co