What is it about black and white photos that makes even the most mundane one twenty-fifth of a second memorable?
In an age of mega pixels, flash cards and digital zoom, a simple black and white photograph can still capture our attention. And I'm not talking infinitely artistic Ansel Adams exposures. Instead it is the unfiltered, perhaps a bit out of focus, moments of life.
Snapshots if you will.
For the past three months, black and white photographs from the Traverse Area Historical Society archives have appeared in the Community section (view them online here). A collection of forgotten faces in nondescript places relegated to the file marked obscurity. Otherwise known as unidentified man in wide necktie wearing even wider brim hat.
Essentially it is the shoebox of unmarked photos in grandma's attic. That is if you take away the shoebox and attic and replace them with a climate controlled vault.
With little information to go on, each photo is published in an attempt to jog the collective memory of the Grand Traverse region. The response has been a rapid sprint of information.
Each week names are put to faces and places. The stranger in the matte finish photograph finds a new identity with words like uncle, sister, neighbor and friend. Some readers provide a few lines of history, others a biography that only lacks an index page.
While lighting and composition are cornerstones of photography, subject matter is what matters in this case. These black and white images seem to evoke memories intertwined with genealogy and a sense of community absent in our drive-thru funeral service society.
While I can't claim a personal connection to any of these photographs, they remind me of my Grandma Scofield. Except that no one in the photo is missing a head.
Grandma had wonderful photo albums -- or at least they smelled that way. A fragrant mix of emulsion and tar-like black pages with gold triangles that held photos in place if you shut them just right -- which I never did. You could always tell grandma's photographic handiwork by her unique head-cropping technique.
This must have been a photo-genetic trait because my mother exposed many a roll of 110 film with headless birthday party attendees.
When I get a chance to thumb through these albums, I'm drawn to faded great-great relatives and mundane moments on the family farm. Just simple snapshots. Names often escape me and I flip the photo over in hopes of finding grandma's cursive on the back.
A picture is indeed worth a thousand words -- but a few names can prove just as valuable.
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