It’s a hard thing to digest -- the ending of one’s childhood.
Upon reading the headline, “Kodak To Stop Making Cameras," I knew that in that singular moment I had reached the threshold of adulthood and couldn’t turn back.
Shockingly simple, I knew Kodak’s cut production carried with it a heavy burden as the the iconic cameras embody the spirit of any 2000’s summer or blow out birthday party.
Hearing that satisfying click and zero photos was an exciting moment in one’s young life. It meant we could finally develop pictures from our schoolyard adventures.
Twiddling my thumbs until Saturdays, my mother and I would take my sister and I to Rita’s Water Ice, while we killed some time waiting for our pictures to develop at our neighborhood Ritz Camera.
While playing with negatives and flipping through my seemingly random pictures, I can truly say that my minor photographic career was always a highlight of my childhood. Yet tragically, this experience is not one that the new digital generation will be able appreciate.
Representing the voice of a generation, these photos exist as an end to an era that revolved entirely around film.
There they stand, those dusty duct-taped boxes, full of years stacked high upon one another. A perfectly preserved time capsule, they remain untouched in open-air attics. Stored away, their existence is forgotten until their miraculous rediscovery, where they are unsealed and analyzed, serving as a reminder of the person we once were.
The scent of mildew seeps into everything. Containing yellow-rimmed notes, art projects, trading cards, and photographs, they exist as concrete evidence of a packaged former life.
When it comes to capturing the memories, all of our evidence lies scattered in boxes throughout our houses. These Kodak moments are neatly packed away into albums or faded frames. These seemingly worthless objects eventually appear at yard sales, or in donation bins, representing an end to a life or a new phase.
Serving sentimental purposes, what is it that causes humans to reflect and imprint on mere material possessions -- photographs? Letters and photos exist as mementos for a detailed record tracing our identity over the decades.
Forming emotional bonds with inanimate objects, I believe that as creatures our archiving exists in order for us to reiterate our self worth. These possessions exist as a material record of who we were and what we have presently become.
While letters and photos may exist as meaningless relics to one person, we display and store items as props for storytelling. These items provide the means of attaining and illustrating power, allowing us to solidify ties between friends and family, and even helping to acquire a meaning to the world around us.
Reminiscent of our roots, Kodak photos remind us of easier times, or perhaps of loved ones lost. Believing in the lost art of photography, these throwbacks instill the nostalgic musing of my own Kodak moments.
