Thieves of time.
(or On taking a photo.)
The idea of taking a photo is the idea of freezing
time, of making a moment eternal, of dissecting visually what is hidden in the
present, in the now. Contrary to popular belief, one only knows the present through
a reflective rumination of the just-past, by the instant remembrance of the
recently perceived. How much does one really see when one looks at the world?
How much does one perceive of the moment seen? Does one really see the world,
or does one only re/construct it to one’s individual or collective content as
it rushes past, placing unawares upon one’s field of vision, details lost in
the wavering meanderings of one´s thoughtless sight —or, rather, of one’s sightless
thought?
Time betrays knowing. It impedes and steals the
capacity of apprehending and comprehending what transpires before one. One is
reduced to perceive life via the constraints of one’s embodied senses and the
limits of one’s field of perception, which —dependent on the acuity and quality
of one’s perceptual organs, and one’s ability to interpret the insurmountable
quantity of sensory data impressed upon one— distracts one from really comprehending
what lies beyond the shadows of the fullness of the moment.
The camera, then, functions primarily as an extension
of one’s visual organ: it allows for the taker to capture the moment with great
—or, in some cases, estranged— accuracy and detail. Like thieves, the camera
becomes an essential tool for those who wish to steal time of its fleetingness:
of stealing time in its place/space of being. It augments the visual sense of
perception allowing one to “see” more than we usually see. It grants one the
ability to see what one may sense but never actually see.
As photographer the instant one depresses the release button
to fire the camera one makes a conscious decision to stop time in its tracks.
One deliberately attempts to purloin a moment from its innocence in
expectations that it will reveal some hidden truth.
You see, one “takes” a photo. One “takes” time from
its place of being. One captures the moment from its habitat, its space. And in
the process one re/creates the act of villainy with impunity for the simple joy
of being able to. Whether it be a mere superficial platitude or an act of a
deeper sense of meaning, the act of pressing the release button is a selfish
act, an act of thievery in the name of truth, in the hope that by stealing space’s
time one will reveal a deeper and/or hidden truth only present in the ephemeral
moment of the now.