The Missing Roll
The Missing Roll -
I must’ve taken these. It was 5 years ago. They’ve sat idle in a grocery bag, a dank basement in Philadelphia, through break-ups and stuffed closets of storage units and apartments. Twisted and bent, scratched and poorly developed, they’re next to useless. Except maybe as a marker for me to remember I was there. I see myself breathing the windy air, my lungs heavy from the climb. I see myself out alone on a green hill, scanning the horizon for a blue cloudbank. The notebook I used to sketch names and places is long lost somewhere along the trail to where I live in Berlin. 24 frames and I’m only vaguely sure from where these pictures come. Would I have forgotten these moments if I hadn’t found this roll? What made me want to press the shutter? I look at these and don’t see the flaws. I see a rawness, a longing for a land that had called me to it’s arms from the pages of a book I’d been given. I see a time when photography was purely magic to me. I see a time before now.