Super 8.

1967 Super-8...the year I was born! Umm-Hmm. Rock that polka-dot bikini!

Life is different on super-8. We smiled more. There was a tangible curiosity and playfulness about life. Color and sound weren’t perfect. We weren’t perfect. There wasn’t a need, yet if we desired to somehow attempt to figure it out…there was plenty of time. When did we abandon the urge to run into the camera face first and laughing? There wasn’t a need to face the harsh critics of retouching and HD because life was a bit out of focus anyway. We lived in it. We breathed in it. We found soul, like it or not, in the inherent knowing that each moment was lost as soon as the next one began. Super-8 was the simple solitary piece of a captured moment that also held in it the rational fear of burning up forever each time we played back the memory. Now we concern ourselves with the viral spread of memories, even ones we weren’t being truly present for when they were happening. Yes, I have a professional digital camera now, and a Flip, and every Apple product I can get my techno-soul hands on. And yes, as much as that keeps me in the loop (photography pun fully intended), I yearn deeply through a melancholy lens for that accidental mishap in the darkroom which every once in a while made the memory better.

So we may have collectively grabbed a permission slip from the desperate hallways of restraint, and before getting caught we had already squelched our souls’ and their craving for nourishment by imperfect things. A more mistake and passion filled way of living somehow got lost. We got swept up in the bondage of perfection. Now we’re sitting inattentive, not sure if we should raise our hands, yet desperately yearning for élan’s bell to ring.

My thought is:   Every so often let’s give that futile slip back, get out of focus and laugh more.