I collect old photographs—not so much the stuffy studio portraits, but snapshots. Some call it Vernacular Photography. There have been exhibits of it, and several books of found photographs have been published.
I pick them up at flea markets and paper fairs. They fascinate me because they are like single sentences taken out of a narrative.
Thanks to my kink, I sometimes slash the guys in the pictures. Some are more suggestive than the others. I have only one photo where I have no doubt they are a couple.
I had a strong feeling about this one when I picked it up, and all doubt disappeared when I read the note on the back:
Aren't they a handsome couple? Marty is a dapper gentleman, and Harold has a cute smile. Someone should write the rest of their story.
That's such a poignant photo. At least a thousand words painted there.
ReplyDeleteMakes you wonder how everything turned out for them. They must be in their sixties now, if they are still around. I have feeling they might not be. When a photo end up in a cardboard box at the flea market, it usually means that there's nobody left for whom it meant something.
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