Stories told;histories shared

During the last month I was reminded once again about the power of photos, particularly portraits that record the history of someone’s life.

On the first occasion I was attending a memorial service for a son of a friend of ours who had died suddenly and much too young.  Our friend is a photographer so it was not surprising to find lots of albums that contained images he had shot of his son and family over the years.  There were also piles of  black and white 11 by 14′s sitting in various spots in the room where the service was.  Most of the people attending the service were engrossed in flipping through the albums and talking to our friend and his daughter about the images.   At some point I turned to the black and white pile and began sorting through beautiful portraits of our friend’s son as a young child.  There were shots of the son with his Mom who had passed away several years before.  There were shots of him with his extended family of aunts and uncles. There were shots of him, older now, holding his baby daughter.   Through this one pile of images I was able to get a sense of his life before I knew him,and after he had become a father.    One picture stood out for me.  It was a picture of my husband before I knew him, with our friend’s son on his lap holding an instamatic camera in his hand and looking at my husband very seriously as only toddlers can do.  I had forgotten that he had babysat for our friends many times.  Later their daughter would baby sit for our son.  The photograph had clarified for me  the  long history of my husband’s friendship with the family .  It had added another element to this young man’s story.

Most recently my brother was in the hospital for a serious operation.  Two of his three sons came up to be with him through surgery.  My brother asked me to bring two photo albums to the hospital for him to share with the guys.  One was an album that I had put together of family photos from  my parents albums.  When both parents passed I inherited most of the family photos.   I split the photos into three different albums for my sister and brother and myself.  They each contained baby pictures, family photos  and other birthday and holiday images.    That was one album I brought.  The other was an album my brother had put together from photos he had taken of his families over the years.  There were photos from two marriages and images of his three sons and different ages.

The day before his surgery I found my brother surrounded by his youngest and oldest son and his nephew, my son, perusing the albums.  He took that time to share his stories of growing up in Lake Placid.  Showed them pictures of their grandparents as young parents, shared pictures of their aunts as kids, and themselves as young kids. His sons saw pictures of their Moms and their Dad. Everyone laughed at the cars, wardrobes, and hairstyles of the 70′s and 80′s.  For my brother these albums gave him the ability to tell his story and theirs.

I have always known the power of portraits.  I grew up in a family where recording events such as birthdays and holiday gatherings was matter of fact.  The house I grew up had photos scattered in every room.    I have covered almost every flat space in my house with photos of my son, my parents, my in-laws, and other family members.  For those that have passed on they serve as a reminder of the people I loved and who loved me.  For those still  around the images remind me that time does not stand still and that I need to stay in touch with that person and keep them in my life.

As a portrait photographer I am always gratified when someone tells me how the portrait I took of their loved one(s) has impacted their lives.  Most of  the family and senior high school images I take end up on walls or  in frames on tables, in albums or scrapbooks.  Sometimes they end up in someone’s wallet.  These days they often end up on someone’s computer.    As a Mom and a daughter I understand how important these portraits are in telling the stories of our lives.  I believe that is why I so passionate about portrait photography.  I want to help others tell their story.

PS. The photo included in this blog is of my family late 1950′s. I am the little one with the Beatle hair cut being uncharacteristically grumpy.

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