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Source: Elizabeth C. Webb (my totally original Adirondacks pictures)
I've been a fan of The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows for a few years now, and the creator, John Koenig, recently started a web series that posts a new video every other Sunday. The post for this Sunday was for the word vemödalen.
vemödalen n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.
This seemed especially relevant having just returned from a trip to Adirondacks where I took several photographs that have already been taken before (and as my hiking buddy told me several times when I lamented missing some key picture,"just look it up on the Internet"). Despite the knowledge that several such photos exist, I still steadfastly hold on to the belief that I saw something unique, that my perspective contributes to the vast collection of images in an invaluable way, and that my one photograph is special in a way no photograph before it has been. We all want our experiences to be unique, yet it's the commonality in those experiences that ties us together, so why does the idea of being the same as someone else, as having taken the same photo or the same thought as someone else, often feel so aversive?
The video itself is beautiful, and nearly every frame is a photo taken by a different photographer.
vemödalen n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.
This seemed especially relevant having just returned from a trip to Adirondacks where I took several photographs that have already been taken before (and as my hiking buddy told me several times when I lamented missing some key picture,"just look it up on the Internet"). Despite the knowledge that several such photos exist, I still steadfastly hold on to the belief that I saw something unique, that my perspective contributes to the vast collection of images in an invaluable way, and that my one photograph is special in a way no photograph before it has been. We all want our experiences to be unique, yet it's the commonality in those experiences that ties us together, so why does the idea of being the same as someone else, as having taken the same photo or the same thought as someone else, often feel so aversive?
The video itself is beautiful, and nearly every frame is a photo taken by a different photographer.
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