It takes guts to print a photo since digital images are too simple to alter or disregard. You have the option to retake, tweak, swipe past, or let them fade into your phone’s never-ending stream. While a picture on your phone is merely a concept, printing one signifies that you have made a decision.
Physical images force us to choose. To determine if this particular moment, this particular face, and this particular version of yourself are worth preserving; you must take time to reflect on your life. A camera roll never requires the same level of attention as a photo booth strip, a Polaroid, or a glossy print on warm paper. It remains apparent. It cannot simply be inadvertently forgotten.
It feels unique to hold a picture in your hand. There is weight and feel even on thin paper. Where someone pinned it up, handed it to you, or pressed it, the edges may flex. It may become soiled or twisted. It may conceal itself in a wallet or slip between the pages of a book. A photo feels more enduring because it is genuine. A printed image must be intentionally deleted, whereas a digital image can vanish silently. It is more difficult to remove.
One example is a photo booth strip. You have only one shot and a few frames to capture genuine, spontaneous expressions in those little, bright booths. You’re never quite prepared. Perhaps you blink, lean in late, or laugh too soon. However, these minor imperfections give the pictures a lively quality. The goal of a photo booth strip is not to seem flawless. It has to do with something more genuine. You’re preserving a brief, sincere moment for yourself when you affix the strip to a mirror, desk, or shelf.
Polaroids are magical in their own right. They have a delicate, erratic appearance. You wait after pressing the button. Slowly, the image emerges, giving the impression that the scene is resurfacing in front of your eyes. Lack of control has a very human quality. Neither the lighting nor the moment can be altered. You simply have faith in what the camera recorded. The shot cannot be altered or filtered once it has been taken. It hands you a memory exactly as it occurred.
Printed pictures fall somewhere in the middle. Before printing, you can select or modify them. They might be included in a proposed collection. Nevertheless, printing lends them a sense of significance that digital images lack. When a photo is printed, it becomes more than simply a file. It can be placed on a wall or stuffed into a drawer with birthday cards. It integrates with your space. It moves with you, demonstrating that despite life’s rapid changes, certain things never change.
There’s a certain subtle charm as they get older. The paper retains each imprint, the colours change, and the corners soften. Digital images are static and always have the same appearance. However, printed images reveal their past. They demonstrate that time has gone by and that someone was concerned enough to repeatedly hold them.
Photo prints slow us down. Without our conscious effort, our camera rolls fill up. Because we select every picture, a physical collection expands. You can go through hundreds of digital images in a minute, but you can’t go through a box of prints without pausing. The past meets you in a different way when your hands come into contact with it. A digital picture assures you that it will be available when you need it. It seems that touching a physical snapshot requires caution.
All of this is made more difficult by social media as we have become conditioned to view ourselves as continuous branding initiatives with colour schemes and filtering styles. Instead of appearing like a person who changes their mind twice a week, you are expected to look consistent from one post to the next, like a product on a shelf. Contrastingly, a polaroid from a bad night out might be placed next to a photo booth strip, and neither of them needs to match. Collectively, they appreciate the mundane and have a personal past that transcends an audience.
They also offer another small joy in getting lost in ways digital ones can’t. Discovering one in a pocket of a coat you don’t wear anymore is like receiving a silent message from your past self. In the end, physical photos help us relive our memories by making us choose what we want to honor, keep, and bring close to us. They’re like small time capsules made of paper, there to remind us that even ordinary moments deserve to exist in a form we can touch. Digital images may record our lives, but physical photos let us live with them.
Eloise Reid (she/her)
qmunicatemagazine.co.uk 