killing denouement


the polaroid years are over
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Sometimes when I think of poloroids I think of dash snow and the amazing photo below by Dave Schubert. But sometimes poloroids can also be lovely. Or the shots from the very first Antifrat gig that fell on something hot and are warped, transience like that particular guitar! +bass! +drums! + girlpower! incarnation of the band. And later on, ditto with the Sparkplugs, albeit on a different stage. I think the first time I ever came into contact with poloroids actually was when I was far littler than now, at the Wafi centre’s annual it’s-Christmastime-you-should-be-buying-more extravaganza, replete with air-imported pine tree and fake snow. Of the smilingly sit/struggle with all the dignity of a very small person on Santa’s lap for posterity kind, even though you’re really far too large (in your head) to be doing so.

Soon, though polaroids may go the way of polar bears, Santa’s reindeers and all things once-wintry once global warming’s karmic punchline kicks in. This is saddening.

I like poloroids in that they’re instant gratification for the image hungry. An instant legitimisation and instant record; an instant memory and instant business card with photo-id. We have digital cameras now for the instant viewing of a photo just taken and the instant erasure of perhaps unsightly photographic mistakes.

When I think of poloroids I think of model castings (because maybe cameras don’t never lie anymore, but poloroids are still honest) and the poloroids that I hear line the walls of the former Dischord office, recording the people who pass through. Now if I ever manage to make it there my face won’t stay behind. [Maybe I even misread that somewhere and/or dreamed up the polaroid-record mechanism?) The walls of past and present DJs at WBAR, David Hockney's composite polaroid collages [on the left is Kasmin, 1982] and yeah, even that Adidas commerical. At that, Helquin has a nice list of other polaroid-in-art moments, and Flickr is of course swimming with it.

These are some polaroids I like of people I like. Disappointing: finding out that despite Andre 3000′s best advice, shaking a polaroid does not actually make it develop any faster. I like running a thumb-forefinger squeeze line along a freshly taken one, though to create a kind of vignetting effect. I also like that they contain caustic acid; so much sealed bitterness in such a positivity inducing rectangle. I have half a pack of polaroids left, and probably won’t be able to afford anymore with the way that the prices are skyrocketing. Maybe this will make me take my time and learn to appreciate regular film (or alternatively buy into Lomoh-so-quirky fetishisation) now?

I don’t know who did this but, such joyousness combined: a polaroid of my favourite quote from Die Fetten Jahre Sind Vorbei or, The Edukators – “every heart is a revolutionary cell”. When I feel cold I wear it on my back; perhaps I should start chalking it onto blackboards and/or scratching it into the ground too?

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[...] can also be lovely. Or the shots from the very first Antifrat gig that fell [...] Pingback by the polaroid years are over « killing denouement June 30, 2008 @ 4:08 am [...]

Pingback by Dash snow, morse code for paranoid rockstar? « killing denouement




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