The Impact of Photography

This post is a bit longer than usual, but it contains a personal view of how photographs impact people's lives, especially on vacations.

The use of photography and photographs has changed tremendously throughout our world as we grow to become more dependent on them. Everywhere we look, there are pictures of anything and everything. In the past, there was a sense of mystery about places or people we couldn't personally be with; they were left to the imagination. Now, as I've come to realize, the use of pictures takes away that mystery and leaves no room for imagination as what I may have wanted to see in real life is right in front of me, but on paper, which caused, in many cases, a bit of disappointment when I got to see it in person.

Landmarks are known to be beautiful, magical places, but now I don't feel they are anything more than a place. I first realized that photographs took away from a place when I visited Washington, D.C, during the spring break of my junior year of high school. Visiting The Lincon Memorial statue was at the top of my list of things to do; I've constantly been exposed to beautiful pictures and assumed visiting in person would be even better. I kept the lovely photos in the back of my mind as I walked up to view the statue, but when it was right in front of me, it was nothing like the photos. There were people everywhere, so I couldn't even see it, and it just looked worn down, whereas in the images, the landmark was vibrant and people-less. I never would've had any ideas or expectations if the Lincon pictures had never existed. Although I wasn't amazed by the monument, I still took photos for some reason; the environment was awful, and the photos barely depicted Lincon's statue, but I still wanted a picture. 

The idea of almost needing a picture reminds me of what Susan Sontag writes about in On Photography. She talks about how photography has changed and become more of a necessity in our lives rather than for a purpose. The idea that tourists feel "compelled to put a camera between themselves and whatever is remarkable that they encounter" is proof of such a necessity (Sontag 11). At the monument, the Lincon Statue itself didn't look remarkable, but the idea behind it was, so I needed a picture. The picture itself cemented the fact that I was there and could show it to others upon returning home. I felt that many other things besides the Lincon also needed to be photographed to the point where my camera roll was full of useless photos.

This got to the point where, besides monuments, I took a random picture of a pigeon just to prove I saw a pigeon in Washington, D.C. It was only a pigeon, but it felt remarkable to me at that moment. The photo became an obligation, a duty that must be completed, or who would've believed me? I took pictures of almost everything I encountered just because it was in front of me, but a few monuments were surprisingly delightful.

The pigeon for context:

Although the central statues/monuments I wanted to see were a bit disappointing, the ones I'd never heard of or seen turned out to be my favorite. Walking through the many historical parks without being subjected to a photo beforehand allowed me to have first-hand encounters with the original art rather than through replication. In his writing Ways of Seeing, John Berger points out that when we view a replication of an artwork, it takes away vital elements. Elements that are only recognizable by viewing art in person "all reproductions more or less distort," so seeing the artwork live first let me produce my own opinion without the input of a photograph beforehand (Berger 20). I saw no distortion, only what was real and what the artist intended us to see. Not knowing what I was seeing before seeing it gave me a magical experience I didn't get with the Lincon Statue or the other popular monuments. I had no picture to compare the authentic artwork to, so there was no way I could be disappointed, and I saw the art in its entirety. 

My favorite statue was at the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial, and it was his dog Fala. I've seen photos taken from the memorial, so most of the statues weren't all that interesting to me, and they all looked better in those pictures. The dog was never in those pictures, though, so when I first saw it surrounded by already-seen art, it really stood out to me. It was like finding a needle in a haystack, the needle being Fala and the haystack being everything around it. A rare case of finding art I wasn't familiar with through photography. Upon stumbling upon it, I just stood there and looked at it for a while, going over every inch of the beloved dog, something I couldn't have enjoyed doing if a picture had been shown to me before. After my experience, I stopped at the souvenir shop and bought a tiny picture of the dog; it held value to me, something none of the other monuments did. I took pictures on my phone, of course, but physically holding a photo let me express my fondness for it. It wasn't the same as seeing it in person, but when I look at it at home, it reminds me of my experience with it. In this case, photography is an excellent addition to our lives. We should be able to choose what photos we want to be exposed to rather than being forced to see them. It would make vacations and art viewing much more enjoyable as we could create our feelings about it without being subjected to distortion beforehand. 

Overall, photography is very beneficial in our lives, but it makes seeing artwork delightful or disappointing. The outcome would have been much more enjoyable if I hadn't seen the Lincon Memorial in a perfectly captured picture before standing in front of it. Instead of great lighting and no people, it was dull and almost unviewable since other spectators covered it. Not seeing photos of Fala made my experience magical; I could create my interpretation of it and choose whether to take a reproduction home with me, which was delightful. 

Does anyone else feel this way?

• Yes
• No
• Kind of