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The other day, my father was showing me how to use our slide scanner. It's quite simple, really; the only problem is that for some reason, it doesn't give you the proper colours.
"That's okay," my father said, "you can go into PhotoShop and adjust the colours the way you want."
Not only does that take time (and I have over 200 slides to scan), but I want the actual colours, not what I think looks best. I'm willing to play around with the brightness, because a few of the pictures are too dim, but my instinct for honesty compells me to edit as little as possible. After all, a good part of memory may bear little ressemblance to what actually happened, and I know that many of my memories are coloured by the pictures that were taken then.
How many events do we remember solely because we've seen the snapshots? Many are the things I've forgotten because they weren't captured on film; sometimes, I recall one with a jolt, amused that I remember it, saddened that I almost lost it forever, and then is raised the question of how to calculate the loss of something you can't recall ever existed.
"That's okay," my father said, "you can go into PhotoShop and adjust the colours the way you want."
Not only does that take time (and I have over 200 slides to scan), but I want the actual colours, not what I think looks best. I'm willing to play around with the brightness, because a few of the pictures are too dim, but my instinct for honesty compells me to edit as little as possible. After all, a good part of memory may bear little ressemblance to what actually happened, and I know that many of my memories are coloured by the pictures that were taken then.
How many events do we remember solely because we've seen the snapshots? Many are the things I've forgotten because they weren't captured on film; sometimes, I recall one with a jolt, amused that I remember it, saddened that I almost lost it forever, and then is raised the question of how to calculate the loss of something you can't recall ever existed.
