While reading Bee Lavender’s book, Lessons in Taxidermy, I was struck by the following paragraph:

“The room is host to dozens of pictures of strangers’ children, small boys of a previous century smiling as they go on pony rides or pose in long forgotten studios, and I stopped at each one, adjusting the frame, wiping the dust off the glass. There are no pictures of my family on the walls; the photographs of my own children are tucked away, hundreds of images hidden in boxes, as though it would be unseemly to boast abut my great luck in knowing them. Instead there are these children, rescued from rummage sales and piles of garbage, children presumably once loved by their own mothers but later discarded by uncaring hands.”

It got me to thinking about my collection of old photographic images, especially those photos which are of people I am not related to, and the ‘value’ of these photos.

Some photographs document events or items which are the focal point for photograph collectors. Historical images, such as wartime photographs, space exploration images, portraits of Presidents, and even movie stars or other celebrities, all have ‘value’ for obvious reasons. In other cases, while the persons in the photos are nearly irrelevant, the objects with them are what collectors ‘value’. For example, a toy collector may find these photos of my parents when they were children worthy of adding to their collection for the images of the toys which appear with them.

Costume collectors covet photos of period clothing, wedding gowns, millinery etc. for similar reasons. But many collectors are snapping up snap shots of persons, places and objects unknown to them.

We often do not think of ourselves as ‘collecting’; rather, we are rescuing these ‘discards’ from “uncaring hands”.

We not only claim what others forfeit; we adopt. These people we don’t know become our brethren, our clan; they are our kindred, if only in spirit. But we have seen them now, and these people become ‘ours’. Their faces are known, if their fates are not.
Sans information, we name them and give them personalities all their own. At the left is one of my kindred: Peter, who likes to garden — even if he dislikes the outfit mom gave him to be photographed in.

A Tale of “Uncaring Hands”

Once upon a time, my mother, an antiques dealer, found herself at a rummage sale. There, leaning against the side of the garage wall, was a large, lovely antique oval frame. Inside the wooden frame with its plaster adornments entirely painted gold; beneath the old glass with its age-telling imperfections, was a portrait of a woman. There was no price on the frame, nor its backing, so my mother enquired as to the price. The woman began to tell the tale of the aunt who resided in the golden frame. Included in the tale was Auntie’s trip to America from Ireland, her life as ‘an educated woman,’ stories of her personality which made her “favorite aunt”, and other personal anecdotes — all of which culminated in “So, obviously, I couldn’t take less than $10 for it.”

Now, normally, a deal is a deal, and a tale such as this would center on my mother’s gloating over such a deal. But in this case, both mom and I were aghast at such a thing. Sure, mom bought the frame. Sure, she resold it at a nice profit. But if ‘Auntie’ were as valued as the seller stated, why only $10? Why was Auntie even for sale?

Mom and I, as well as countless others who collect photographs, cringe at the thought of our family photos ending up thus — or worse!

What’s The Value in Adopting Such Photos?

In adoption, the ‘value’ is the delight of the collector who rescues. Some of us act like foster families, and simply rescue the photos until the real next of kin comes along. We place them on websites, give them to local museums or genealogy groups, all with hopes that some long lost relative will find them and take them back home.

Even more of us tuck these photos into our own lives. We relish the opportunity for these people to grace our walls, our shelves, and our memory books. And often, like Bee, we give these lost members of our adopted ancestry more prominence in our homes than that of our own family.

In Lessons in Taxidermy Bee wrote that she found it “unseemly to boast” of her own family members. This because Bee, a woman who survives a rare genetic disorder resulting in darn-near countless health problems, likely fears the exhibition of her family might pose a threat, whereas leaving the photos unseen would keep her family safe from they eyes of fate or unkind gods who would torture them as they have her. (I suspect Bee’s passion for preserving old photographs themselves comes from a desire to record and preserve lives as she hopes will be done after she is gone.) But many collectors of photographs do the same themselves for different reasons.

One collector told me, that she likes to display her old photographs in hopes that some ‘real’ family member will see them & take them back home where they belong. While she doesn’t have the traffic of the Smithsonian, she hopes her display of them in more public areas of her home will increase the odds that these photos are found.

Some collectors do not see things this way. They find it practical to display the large antique photos and frames while storing family photos in acid-free memory books, safe from sunlight and risk of accidents. Whatever the reason, it is rare to find a photograph collector who does not prominently display at least parts of their collection.

Others, like myself, enjoy telling the stories behind their adopted kin — be they based on fact, or like Peter, are figments of our rich imaginations. Even made up stories are better than some indecent burial in a landfill. At least someone studies the photos, examines them for clues to the person’s life. They are not forgotten, even if they were never known.

Some photos are collected based on a theme: babies, occupations, women and dogs, time periods, location, photos which include the shadows of the photographer, who knows? The point is that we fall in love with what and who the camera saw, and we must take them home.

Some cultures fear the camera, believing ‘the box’ steals the soul; the proof of which is displayed on the paper for all to see. To some, it may be superstitious, but for those of us who collect, we have to wonder… If photos of ghosts exist, it’s not so silly to think that no matter how faint, something — someone — calls to us from these photographs…

Like Horton, we hear a ‘who’, and we know what to do: save those photos, lest they end up as part of beezlenut stew.

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Article Tags: Bee Lavender, photograph, photos

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This entry was posted on Monday, August 14th, 2006 at 6:00 am and is filed under collecting fyi. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.