Polaroids + Instagram

My cousin died of breast cancer at the age of 40. That really pissed me off. It royally pissed me off. She has gone from being a vibrant being to a mass produced generic Facebook wall where people continue to post messages of loss and good times. A place where I can read her last email to me, and mine to her where I say I will see her when I'm back. I never did see her again.  She still continues to pop into my timeline as a notification. She can't be dead. She lives on in Facebook. 

This makes me feel uncomfortable. Not sure how I feel about her Facebook account still being active but its not my call. Her children own that decision.  The children of the post industrial photographic print revolution.  They see her Facebook wall as a way to honour her.  I see the sadness in someone who once was being reduced to a digital image on a platform that may not exist in 20 years time.

As a photographer, as someone who knows the world of the image pre and post the digital age, as someone who constantly questions the archival state of the digital age we find ourselves in, I do not understand the need, the desire or the compelling nature to share images before we print them. 

I don't expect you to understand the pain and mental anguish I have about the loss of the print.  I am in a constant state of angst. I have said this before. We all end up just as a collection of photographs, my father did. I am thankful he did not end up as a Facebook wall and yes, its pisses me off when others post photos of him on my wall. He died in 1977. He has no place being Facebooked.

Its the height of photo rudeness in my book.

Inspired by the immortal nature of the print and trying to find a way to process the death of my cousin I started a polaroid wall. 18 months ago on the day she died I started sticking them to my wall.  I find the act of taking the photo, selecting them, taping them, arranging them and then standing back and looking at them therapeutic.

It gives me a moment of piece until I start re arranging them, straightening them. Taking more. Then the peace comes back and the process starts again.  Its an addiction I am not willing to stop.


I have 1000 polaroids on my wall. 

Nobody really looks at what they see. I know this to be true  by the number of people that glance at this wall but do not walk up to it and really look at it. Really see.  See the nakedness. The self reflection.  The sex workers. The fucking. The lovers. The self harm. The travel. The dead. The babies. The unborn.

In an effort to cure myself of this post industrial photographic revolution rage and sadness where the print has been rendered endangered I am posting one polaroid a day from my wall to my Instagram wall

I do intend to turn them into a book alongside the vintage transparencies from my fathers camera of the 1960s and well, the state of the cock shot book but these are side projects hoping to be done by Christmas.

My need to finish this MA and well, find a funding source to eat trumps publishing these for now. Thank you for the donations and for buying my books.   You are keeping this project alive until I can find a funding source.