The Pierced Eye: August 2013

When I was about five or six, I asked my dad when the world changed from black and white to color. Without a blink, he replied, "Twenty minutes into 'The Wizard of Oz'." This has since become a favorite family story, but I remember the reason I had asked. Looking through old family photos, quite a few of them were only in black and white. So, to my child brain, it made sense that what the camera captured was how things actually were (i.e. the world had no color), and that things had eventually changed after a certain period of time. Even now, when looking at old photographs or film, it is difficult for me to remember that the world was not in black and white even then. Still, somehow the lack of color makes everything seem so much more interesting. I find myself drawn in to this world of lives long gone, but still captured in this delightful, and sometimes haunting, medium.

Recently, while walking through my West Philly neighborhood, I came across a vintage sale. Not a garage sale, but a "vintage" sale, meaning that these items were of actual value as opposed to what you might come across at an average garage or yard sale. Or at least, that's what it was supposed to seem like. Among the treasures were an "Adam and Eve" jigsaw puzzle, complete with nude male and female figures on either side; a holographic picture of Jesus; a large set of small field glasses ($5 each); c.d.s from obscure bands; and two shallow boxes full of mostly black and white photographs. It was the latter which interested me, and I spent a good thirty minutes looking through them. I came out with 46 photographs. 46 mainly black and white photographs ranging from portraits, family photos, landscapes, architecture, and postcards. All for the reasonable price of $12.

The dates of these photos ranged from the late 1800s to the early/mid 1960s. And for one reason or another, they left me feeling...enchanted. But even that I don't feel is the right word. Not quite. If there was a word for feeling a longing to know someone else's story, to know their name, to know what they cared about, whom they loved, what they were like...that was the feeling I had when looking at these photos. The same could similarly be said for the landscape photos: where was this taken? Does it still look even remotely like this, or has it all been taken over by concrete and shopping malls? Who lived in that house? Was this taken on vacation somewhere? On and on. The longing to be where the photographer stood, to know what they knew, to know their subjects. This inexplicable and insatiable curiosity is what led me to carry these 46 photographs home.

I arranged them on my glass topped coffee table. Below is a partial view.

I could not stop peering into their faces, wondering who they were. For some of them even, wondering if they were still alive, or had living relatives who would be interested in obtaining their photographs. (The people who sold them to me originally said they had gotten them from estate and yard sales. It's possible they were left behind, forgotten in a box somewhere, only to be turned out to anyone willing to pick them up.)

As I looked through them, I was surprised to find that a few turned out to be little pieces of a puzzle long forgotten. A postcard dated in 1910 showed two houses, one with an "x" in front. The writing on the back indicated to the reader that it had been the house that she (the addressee) and the addressee's mother had been born in. Another postcard, with no date and no message, showed a family of seven standing in front of a house decked out in American flag regalia. Upon closer examination, it turned out to be the house marked in the first card. And finally, a postcard featuring the stern face of a young woman contained a rather stream of consciousness message to her brother. The addressee had the same last name as the one on the first card. Three postcards, all connected but still giving no full picture of the lives once lived. The rest, like some pieces of history, is pure speculation. Still, they are pieces, however small, however fragile, of something that was once whole, of something that once mattered, however brief.

The first postcard. The message reads: "The house marked with a cross is where you and your momma were born. Love on your sixth month birthday. Lovingly, Grandma and Grandpa"

Sister's stream of consciousness message to her brother: "Dear Brother, You are to guess who sends this as I will not sign any name a man took it when I was here last summer I did not know it at the time he is cook walk [illegible] here and gave it me today I am a little [illegible] but can't help that now."

I wish I had something more profound to share, more mysteries to unlock. But for now, all I have are small pieces that I don't know what to do with. With the exception of a photograph or two with an actual name attached to them, it appears that the owners of these photos will remain forever unknown. Maybe the more damaged photos can be digitally restored, but other than that, they're in danger of being forgotten in a box somewhere. For now, I can only share some of what I have found, hoping that you, the reader, will find a similar fascination for the lives of others.

A beauty from 1924.

My favorite out of all of them, and the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.

This one carried no date, but was probably taken in

the 1930s/1940s, though possibly earlier.

I at first thought this was a bride (because of the veil),

but then remembered that bridesmaids wore veils, too, in the 50s and early 60s.

This little girl with her sweet smile was one of my favorites. Her expression is innocent and playful, and I couldn't help but be drawn to her. (And look at that curly brown hair!)