A Remembrance of Things Past

For many people, photography’s most noteworthy asset is its ability to capture and preserve precious memories in a mode that is both widely accessible and easily, if not universally, understood.  A glance at a still image can awaken a flood of recollections; therein lies its power as medium.  It’s not the only method to such a means, but it almost certainly is the most broadly attainable.

John McDevitt, on his blog, demonstrates this underlying photographic principle on a regular basis.  In a recent entry, using a photograph as the visual inspiration for a story about a senior prom circa 50 years ago, John hit the snail squarely on the head, as per usual.  In so doing, he prodded me to delve into a subject that I have been musing about for some time:  the potential for new photographs to serve as something of a surrogate for old ones as an invocation of memories.

My wife and I celebrated our 10th wedding anniversary this past August.  In commemoration of the occasion, my mother wanted to present us with a special gift.  Months in the planning, she designed and ultimately created a matted three-window wall hanging that included:

1) a photograph from our wedding day–a black and white image that was taken as a candid while, ironically, my wife and I were posing for a formal shot

2) one of the original wedding invitations that were sent out, and

3) a photograph of the location where the ceremony was held

The entire piece was headed, in impeccable calligraphy by renowned artist Tim Botts, who happens to live approximately one block away from my mother’s home.  The calligraphic word?  “Remember.”  It’s a marvelous, touching piece of work and one that my wife and I treasure.

There was only one problem, of a sort, and that was associated with the third numbered point above: the photograph of the location.  The wedding was held at the Lake Ellyn Boathhouse.  The only appropriate image my mother could find came from a local historical society.  A scan was made of what was a fairly low-quality original.  Beyond issues of quality, there was one other issue–the wood siding on the boathouse in the image was red.  No one I know has any recollection of the boathouse as having ever been anything other than brown.  In any event, the building was most certainly painted brown at the time of the wedding.

Less than entirely satisfied after the presentation of the gift, my mother approached me about photographing the boathouse myself.  She would then replace the original with a print of an image I produced.  I, naturally, agreed.

In early September of this year, just a few weeks after receiving the gift, I had the opportunity to scout the location in preparation for shooting it under suitable light.  Though I’ve lived not far from Lake Ellyn for the lion’s share of the last four decades, I had never photographed it, or even seriously considered doing so.  But my scouting expedition revealed more potential than I had presumed.

I returned a few days later in even light, for the shoot.  Lake Ellyn is almost always a breezy spot, which tends to wreak havoc on reflections, but I managed to catch a relatively low-wind moment.  The image below is the one that went into the revised wall hanging.  It’s a rather unremarkable shot, in my view, but it more than adequately suits the intended purpose.  This is almost exactly what the scene looked like on the day my wife and I were married, which of course, was the point of the presentation.  The final version is now even more special, if that’s possible, than was originally the case given that my image is part of it.

Lake Ellyn Boathouse, Lake Ellyn Park, Illinois

We’ve come full circle.  A photograph taken more than ten years after the event being commemorated is now an integral component of an article designed to serve as a locus of memory.  Sometimes it’s possible to create a new remembrance for an old memory…through photography.

Epilogue:  I was so taken with the Lake Ellyn location that I resolved to return in late October, when the trees–hopefully–would be at peak color.  And so I did.  On a very chilly morning in late October, I arrived before sunrise, and shot the boathouse from a variety of spots.  In my favorite of the group, shot less than 30 minutes after sunrise, a small group of ducks serendipitously provided added interest to the colorful scene.

Lake Ellyn Autumn, Lake Ellyn Park, Illinois