I GOT my first camera for Christmas when I was 11.
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The early 1980s, slimline automatic model had a fold-out, hard cover and a stretchy, metal wrist strap that pinched the fine hairs on my arms.
On Boxing Day that year I wanted to take a photo of my paternal grandparents on their porch before we started the hellish trek home to Rennie, made worse without 3SR radio reception for most of the way until just outside Berrigan. My grandmother, however, talked me into waiting for the next trip to take the picture.
It was the last time I saw her alive and I have always regretted not getting that photo.
Since then I have shot the hell out of Christmas parties, Easter long weekends, family holidays, birthday parties and other miscellaneous functions in the interests of keeping the family photographic record intact.
I went through rolls of Kodak film in the mid-80s; as a certified camera-geek, the Corowa chemist was my favourite hangout.
I was printing scores of photos for dozens of albums when Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg was not yet a twinkle in his father’s eye. Sad but true!
Like most of us, many of my photos are now published online in Mr Zuckerberg’s social media arenas of Facebook and Instagram.
On the upside, it’s free, easy to do and photo albums can be shared instantly with family and friends everywhere.
On the downside, photos can be shared instantly with friends of friends of friends everywhere.
Despite the risk of over-sharing and random tagging being part and parcel of the Facebook package, I still put together about half a dozen digital photo albums a year. I always know when my mother-in-law has found my latest album because I’ll get 36 likes and love-reaction notifications on my 36-photo family album. (Unconditional love on social media is a rare and beautiful thing!)
However, I take increasingly fewer photos in my spare time, weighed down by the burden of just how to share them.
Is this event worthy of an album? Is it too soon after I posted my last album? Does my bottom look big in this album? Just kidding! As the photographer, I almost never feature in my own albums.
Instagram is another ongoing battle. To shoot your lunch or not shoot your lunch. That is the question. #mydinnerisgettingcoldjustthinkingaboutit #shootnowpostlater #blahblahblah
When I tell my daughters to put down their devices and live in the moment, I’m obliged to practice what I preach.
At the weekend my husband and I made a curry for friends coming over for dinner.
I figured that if it could be done ahead of time, we could chill with our friends. As it was a Massaman Curry from the recipe book by Melbourne foodie icon Chin Chin, it was a little more complex than I expected. But I’d yet to shy away from a food marathon.
Having started the curry at 11am, my husband and I finished it at five minutes to Happy Hour at 5pm. Granted I did vacuum, make a corn fritter batter and do the chilli-spiked topping for an apple crumble but otherwise it was solid curry-making.
I resisted the urge to photograph the dish, which was a surprisingly satisfying experience. It also made me wonder if that didn’t make the curry taste all the sweeter.
Like my grandparents on the porch etched in my brain forever, I have come to believe that sometimes it’s better not to blur your memories with a photo.
