My Madelines

by Anne

When I hold a polaroid I’m holding a memory, a moment forever captured. A small, square time machine. I remember more about taking my polaroids than the thousands of digital images I’ve shot. Because I tend towards the dramatic, I like to think I even remember how I felt when I shot my polaroids. Proust had his madelines, I have polaroid film.

I’ve only been seriously shooting polaroids for about 3 years. One of my closest friends is an amazing polaroid photographer and with her encouragement I purchased a SX-70 and that was it, I fell and I fell hard. I now own over 10 different kinds of polaroid cameras and have more film than food in my fridge. I carry my SX-70 with me everywhere and even if I never take it out my bag there’s a comfort in knowing its there just in case I come across something polaroid-worthy!

I’ve thrown away more shots than I’ve saved but the fact that polaroids are seldom pristine images makes them all the more precious to me – I love the wacky color shifts, the odd light leaks. Everything looks different through the lens of a polaroid camera – Edwin Land called the SX-70 “the magic camera” and it truly is. Watching the image swim to the surface of the print – magic! Discovering details in prints the naked eye missed – more magic! There’s a depth to polaroid images – a lushness – a richness. I tend to take my best polaroids of places that will soon be memories themselves, the “old” Coney Island, NYC’s flower district.

My brother was a photographer and after his death three years ago I found a box of polaroids he’d taken while setting up shots. Most of them were pretty boring (light tests, background tests) but there were about 10 shots of his hands. I have a hard time looking at them but they mean more to me than any other photo I have of my brother. They’re more real, more raw and yeah, there’s something magical about them too.

I want to keep capturing memories, even the bittersweet ones. Please save polaroid film!