The full moon is but a gleam in an overcast sky tonight so I've been last minute PHOTOBOXING instead. There were a few hours left on one of their occasional offers - £4.99 for 100 cm wide prints. I'm not into big but sometimes find it hard to resist and with two hours to go tried to pick some photographs to upload. Nothing seems to measure up when it comes to the crunch but after a lot of umming and ahhing I prepped and uploaded and ordered three, with 15 minutes to spare.
The home-made big LITTLE BOOK I'm making has six inch wide prints and I've entered photos into a couple of opens that are small, too. (They might find room for them if they are tiny.) And small is bound to be the new big. Eventually.
Ordering big prints of oneself is peculiar, not that I'm going to be looking at them, but all the same I'm not really sure what I want them for. At least they will one day serve as some kind of evidence. Decades from now, discovered in a cardboard tube tucked away behind a pile of boxes, like some long-forgotten time capsule. I expect I will be confused (more so than usual) but hopefully also amused, and possibly, embarrassed - who knows? That's assuming I even make it that far. Old photos of oneself always cause momentary displacement, the person depicted in the picture never wholly recognisable as oneself, and looking back may well be like seeing pictures of someone no more than vaguely familiar, who I may feel I didn't know particularly well. Someone, by then, almost forgotten.
The home-made big LITTLE BOOK I'm making has six inch wide prints and I've entered photos into a couple of opens that are small, too. (They might find room for them if they are tiny.) And small is bound to be the new big. Eventually.
Ordering big prints of oneself is peculiar, not that I'm going to be looking at them, but all the same I'm not really sure what I want them for. At least they will one day serve as some kind of evidence. Decades from now, discovered in a cardboard tube tucked away behind a pile of boxes, like some long-forgotten time capsule. I expect I will be confused (more so than usual) but hopefully also amused, and possibly, embarrassed - who knows? That's assuming I even make it that far. Old photos of oneself always cause momentary displacement, the person depicted in the picture never wholly recognisable as oneself, and looking back may well be like seeing pictures of someone no more than vaguely familiar, who I may feel I didn't know particularly well. Someone, by then, almost forgotten.