Archive Pictures Quotes

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You learned this,” Kabsal said, lifting up her drawing of Jasnah, “from a book.” “Er…yes?” He looked back at the picture. “I need to read more.
Brandon Sanderson (The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1))
Shallan, weren't you supposed to be reading?” “I . . . had trouble concentrating.” “So you came up on deck,” Jasnah said, “to sketch pictures of young men working without their shirts on. You expected this to help your concentration?
Brandon Sanderson (Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive, #2))
The poets made all the words and therefore language is the archives of history, and, if we must say it, a sort of tomb of the muses. For though the origin of most of our words is forgotten, each word was at first a stroke of genius, and obtained currency because for the moment it symbolized the world to the first speaker and to the hearer. The etymologist finds the deadest word to have been once a brilliant picture. Language is fossil poetry.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
There is a mirror across from me, and I check my reflection in it before heading home. Despite the bone-deep fatigue and the growing fear and frustration, I look…fine. Da always said he’d teach me to play cards. Said I’d take the bank, the way things never reach my eyes. There should be something—a tell, a crease between my eyes, or a tightness in my jaw. I’m too good at this. Behind my reflection I see the painting of the sea, slanting as if the waves crashing on the rocks have hit with enough force to tip the picture. I turn and straighten it. The frame makes a faint rattling sound when I do. Everything in this place seems to be falling apart.
Victoria Schwab (The Archived (The Archived, #1))
She wrote somewhere that photographs create their own memories, and supplant the past. In her pictures there isn’t nostalgia for the fleeting moment, captured by chance with a camera. Rather, there’s a confession: this moment captured is not a moment stumbled upon and preserved but a moment stolen, plucked from the continuum of experience in order to be preserved.
Valeria Luiselli (Lost Children Archive)
I still don't have the heart to press delete. So, I’m archiving all your pictures and memories to make room for something far better than what I’ve left behind.
Mitali Meelan (Coffee and Ordinary Life)
Dipping into the archive is always an interesting, if sometimes unsettling, proposition. It often begins with anxiety, with the fear that the thing you want won't surface. But ultimately the process is a little like tapping into the unconscious, and can bring with it the ambivalent gratification of rediscovering forgotten selves. Rather than making new pictures why can't I just recycle some of these old ones? Claim "found" photographs from among my boxes? And have this gesture signify "resistance to further production/consumption"? (96)
Moyra Davey (Long Life Cool White: Photographs and Essays)
All memory is individual, unreproducible - it dies with each person. What is called collective memory is not a remembering but a stipulation: that is important, and this is the story about how it happened, with the pictures that lock the story in our minds. Ideologies create substantiating archives of images, representative images, which encapsulate common ideas of significance and trigger predictable thoughts, feelings.
Susan Sontag (Regarding the Pain of Others)
I’m not sure, though, what “for later” means anymore. Something changed in the world. Not too long ago, it changed, and we know it. We don’t know how to explain it yet, but I think we all can feel it, somewhere deep in our gut or in our brain circuits. We feel time differently. No one has quite been able to capture what is happening or say why. Perhaps it’s just that we sense an absence of future, because the present has become too overwhelming, so the future has become unimaginable. And without future, time feels like only an accumulation. An accumulation of months, days, natural disasters, television series, terrorist attacks, divorces, mass migrations, birthdays, photographs, sunrises. We haven’t understood the exact way we are now experiencing time. And maybe the boy’s frustration at not knowing what to take a picture of, or how to frame and focus the things he sees as we all sit inside the car, driving across this strange, beautiful, dark country, is simply a sign of how our ways of documenting the world have fallen short. Perhaps if we found a new way to document it, we might begin to understand this new way we experience space and time. Novels and movies don’t quite capture it; journalism doesn’t; photography, dance, painting, and theater don’t; molecular biology and quantum physics certainly don’t either. We haven’t understood how space and time exist now, how we really experience them. And until we find a way to document them, we will not understand them.
Valeria Luiselli (Lost Children Archive)
Why am I holding on to this stuff? Some of this junk is losing its punch. Pictures. Pieces of paper with writing on them—I can no longer connect with the thoughts or feelings that birthed them, that drove me in that panicky desperate moment to scribble in a barely legible scrawl as if on a cave wall. All say the same thing in some form or another: “I am here. This is me in this moment.” Do I have some fantasy that this stuff will be important after I die? Do I think that scholars will be thrilled that I left such a disorganized treasure trove of creative evidence of me? Will the archives be fought over by college libraries? What will probably happen is my brother will come out with my mother and look in the boxes. My mother will hold up a VHS or a cassette and say to my brother, “Do I have a machine that plays these?” My brother will shake his head no and they will throw it all away.
Marc Maron (Attempting Normal)
Having studied art history, as opposed to political history, I tend to incorporate found objects into my books. Just as Pablo Picasso glued a fragment of furniture onto the canvas of Still Life with Chair Caning, I like to use whatever's lying around to paint pictures of the past--traditional pigment like archival documents but also the added texture of whatever bits and bobs I learn from looking out bus windows or chatting up people I bump into on the road.
Sarah Vowell
Bill, this is serious, and despite my stable condition, I am a man and I have something of the gravest importance to ask you. PLEASE could you do this for me? SOMEwhere in the "archives" there must be a picture of Joan, your wife, my mother. Please, Bill. Father, I'm almost 33 and I don't know what my own mother looked like. Would it should it can it possibly be too much trouble to let a precariously living son see the IMAGE of his mother? Honestly, this has rankled me for years on end. This letter has certainly asked a lot. I love you, Bill. Bill Jr.
William S. Burroughs Jr.
All the pictures in this book are authentic, vintage found photographs, and with the exception of a few that have undergone minimal postprocessing, they are unaltered. They were lent from the personal archives of ten collectors, people who have spent years and countless hours hunting through giant bins of unsorted snapshots at flea markets and antiques malls and yard sales to find a transcendent few, rescuing images of historical significance and arresting beauty from obscurity—and, most likely, the dump. Their work is an unglamorous labor of love, and I think they are the unsung heroes of the photography world.
Ransom Riggs (Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #1))
Merleau-Ponty's painting inhabits the same rhetoric as early cinema: it makes the invisible visible, or rather it makes visibility visible; it forms from the thresholds of the visible and invisible world, an order, mode, or aesthetic of visuality. Not only of the small or fast, but of visibility as such. The visuality of the visible and the invisible is found in the mixture of the body and its world, of your body and your world, all your worlds, all your bodies in this world and all those others. Painting is the process by which the visuality of the visible and invisible is made manifest: "Painting mixes up all our categories in laying out its oneiric universe of carnal essences, of effective likenesses, of mute meanings." Each painting is a universal archive, a picture of the universe, a universal image—and like a dream.
Akira Mizuta Lippit (Atomic Light (Shadow Optics))
house with a great view. You’ll see that at the party tonight. Wish Char would be here for that, too, but we’ll all be together soon.” At least, Kate thought, Jack Lockwood, alias former father, would not be here tonight, so she could enjoy herself. Not only was she curious to see Grant Mason, but she also couldn’t wait to examine the Adena burial site she’d found on an old map in the university archives when she was back in the States at Christmas. The so-called Mason Mound was about twenty yards behind Grant’s house, and she was much more eager to see it than him. * * * The caterers Grant had hired from the upscale Lake Azure area had taken over the kitchen, and he didn’t want to disturb the setup for the buffet or the bar at the far end of the living room. So he sat in his favorite chair looking out over the back forest view through his massive picture window. The guests for the party he was throwing for his best friend, Gabe, and his fiancée, Tess, would be here soon—eighteen people, a nice number for mixing and chatting. He’d laid in champagne for toasts to the happy couple. Gabe and Grant had been best friends since elementary school, when a teacher had seated them in alphabetical order by first names. Grant had been the first to marry. Lacey had been his high-school sweetheart, head of the cheerleaders, prom queen to his king. How unoriginal—and what a disaster.
Karen Harper (Forbidden Ground (Cold Creek, #2))
At the time that he had seriously begun to consolidate his organization, Parker was working in a custom photo lab. The reader who is not much taken by audiovisual pastimes may have a deficient picture of that place where Parker was employed; or perhaps not so much a deficient picture--the dyes faded, shoddily spotted, brutishly burned in and doltishly dodged by subhuman technicians under the glare of the enlargers--as an image which had been misfiled in the archives of the memory, representing instead one of those bleak Photo Drive-Ups and Presto Printses located nowadays on the corner of almost every large parking lot, in which the clerks wait sadly behind their glass counters, but no one comes in, and the air becomes darker and darker over the course of the morning as a result of exhaust fumes (there goes another brain cell; ping! - THAT thought will never be completed now); and the pink chubby tots smiling at your from the walls in sample enlargements become steadily more grimy, and by the lunch break they are brown; and the day ticks off on the loud digital clock; and then finally a car creeps into the lot, and a popeyed couple locks that vehicle doors listlessly; they request a reprint of a washed-out snapshot of their son who was killed in the Indian Wars, and they go away; and after a long time here comes a slick-haired teenager who once took a few pix of his girlfriend holding a balloon at the zoo in front of the monkey cage on a dirty overcast day, and the clerk can tell just by looking at this customer that they won’t come out, because the guy’s a loser if the clerk knows anything at all about losers and in fact he knows a hell of a lot about losers because why else would he be stuck with this job?
William T. Vollmann (You Bright and Risen Angels)
Yoel Goldenberg makes exhibitions, photographs, models and media craftsmanship. His works are an examination of ideas, for example, validness and objectivity by utilizing an exhaustive methodology and semi exploratory exactness and by referencing documentaries, 'actuality fiction' and prominent experimental reciprocals. Yoel Goldenberg as of now lives and works in Brooklyn. By challenging the division between the domain of memory and the domain of experience, Goldenberg formalizes the circumstantial and underlines the procedure of synthesis that is behind the apparently arbitrary works. The manners of thinking, which are probably private, profoundly subjective and unfiltered in their references to dream universes, are much of the time uncovered as collections. His practice gives a valuable arrangement of metaphorical instruments for moving with a pseudo-moderate approach in the realm of execution: these fastidiously arranged works reverberate and resound with pictures winnowed from the fantastical domain of creative energy. By trying different things with aleatoric procedures, Yoel Goldenberg makes work in which an interest with the clarity of substance and an uncompromising demeanor towards calculated and insignificant workmanship can be found. The work is detached and deliberate and a cool and unbiased symbolism is utilized. His works are highlighting unplanned, unintentional and sudden associations which make it conceivable to overhaul craftsmanship history and, far and away superior, to supplement it. Consolidating random viewpoints lead to astounding analogies. With a theoretical methodology, he ponders the firmly related subjects of file and memory. This regularly brings about an examination of both the human requirement for "definitive" stories and the inquiry whether tales "fictionalize" history. His gathered, changed and own exhibitions are being faced as stylishly versatile, specifically interrelated material for memory and projection. The conceivable appears to be genuine and reality exists, yet it has numerous countenances, as Hanna Arendt refers to from Franz Kafka. By exploring dialect on a meta-level, he tries to approach a wide size of subjects in a multi-layered route, likes to include the viewer in a way that is here and there physical and has faith in the thought of capacity taking after structure in a work. Goldenberg’s works are straightforwardly a reaction to the encompassing environment and uses regular encounters from the craftsman as a beginning stage. Regularly these are confined occasions that would go unnoticed in their unique connection. By utilizing a regularly developing file of discovered archives to make self-ruling works of art, he retains the convention of recognition workmanship into every day hone. This individual subsequent and recovery of a past custom is vital as a demonstration of reflection. Yoel’s works concentrate on the powerlessness of correspondence which is utilized to picture reality, the endeavor of dialog, the disharmony in the middle of structure and content and the dysfunctions of dialect. To put it plainly, the absence of clear references is key components in the work. With an unobtrusive moderate methodology, he tries to handle dialect. Changed into craftsmanship, dialect turns into an adornment. Right then and there, loads of ambiguities and indistinctnesses, which are intrinsic to the sensation, rise up to the top
Herbert Goldenberg
8-bn hype balloon bursts: Govt finds nothing against Hasan Ali The case dates back to May 5, 2007, when searches were conducted at various properties owned by Khan. Hasan Ali was arrested in March 2011. ( Picture source: Express archive ) Maneesh Chhibber | 718 words Arrested in March 2011, Pune-based stud farm owner and alleged hawala operator Hasan Ali Khan faces charges of money laundering and tax evasion. The Income Tax department has asked him to pay a whopping Rs 1.16 lakh crore. But, less than a week before it demits office, the UPA government at the Centre has finally acknowledged that its tax evasion cases against Khan “may not be sustainable”. Confidential finance ministry documents accessed by The Indian Express say that the government has little hope of winning any of the Income Tax cases or appeals pending before various authorities against Khan. After protracted exchanges with various foreign governments and banks, including UBS Zurich, where Khan was supposed to have illegally parked $ 8 billion, the finance ministry has come to the conclusion that most of the tax cases against him may not stand judicial scrutiny. The case dates back to May 5, 2007, when searches were conducted at various properties owned by Khan. A laptop recovered during the searches contained scanned copies of documents stating that Ali had accounts in UBS Zurich, with deposits in excess of US$ 8 billion. The Enforcement Directorate (ED) also provided a copy of Khan’s notarised statement which indicated that he had opened an account in UBS Singapore, in 1982 with an opening deposit of US$ 1.5 million. The account was allegedly opened on the recommendation of arms dealer Adnan Khashoggi, who was also involved in the Bofors case. However, in its response to the letters sent by the Indian government, UBS said that while Khan held three accounts in the bank for some time in 2001, there was a transaction of only about US$ 60,700 in one of the accounts. The bank also claimed that all the other documents seized in the raids, including the one that indicated a deposit of US$ 8 billion, were false and fabricated. In order to rule out foul play, the government took the unusual step of sending the letters and documents received from the UBS management to the Swiss authorities for “independent confirmation” and verification. In December last year, the Swiss government informed the Indian government that the letters sent by UBS were “true and authenticated”. This information, sources said, has changed the entire case. Similarly, Malaysian authorities have also informed the government that a company which was reported to be owned by Khan, as per the documents seized during the searches, “doesn’t exist”. It is learnt that information has also been sought from many other countries under the double taxation avoidance agreements. In most cases, the proceedings against Khan, his wife Rheema Hasan Ali Khan and his associate Kashinath Tapuriah are pending adjudication before the Income Tax Appellate Tribunal (ITAT). As per the assessment orders passed by the Income Tax department for 2001-02 to 2010-11, Khan owes about Rs 37,000 crore as tax on concealed income. Add to this the interest (Rs 16,000 crore), penalty under Section 271 (1)(c) of the Income Tax Act (Rs 53,000 crore) and interest levied under Section 220 (2) of the Income Tax Act (Rs 10,000 crore) and the total sum that he is expected to pay is Rs 1.16 lakh crore. Khan’s wife has also been asked to pay Rs 97.33 crore, while a company which he owns — R M Investment & Trading Company Private Limited — has been directed to pay Rs 651.32 crore as unpaid tax, penalty and interest. Searches were also conducted at Tapuriah’s premises in Kolkata since the seized documents showed transfer of funds from UBS Zurich to Tapuriah’s wife Chandrika. The Income Tax department has asked Chandrika to pay Rs 47,000 crore, while Tapuriah has been told to pay over Rs 1,000 crore. In an opinion
Anonymous
In the end, he settled on posting one picture every week of whatever personal art project he happens to be working on. “It’s a great way for me to have a visual archive of my projects,” he explained. He also follows only a small number of accounts, all of which belong to artists whose work inspires him—making the experience of checking his feed both fast and meaningful.
Cal Newport (Digital Minimalism: Choosing a Focused Life in a Noisy World)
He nods, looking through the pictures on the screen on the back of his camera. Some relationships can only exist as memories. But unlike ephemeral digital images that can be sorted and deleted, we can’t erase the past. We have to learn to live with all the images that are stored in love's archive, memories tagged good and bad. No Photoshopping. Accept the negative before moving forward.
Shannon Mullen (See What Flowers)
Eventually, she held up the page, satisfied. It depicted Yalb and the porter in detail, with hints of the busy city behind. She’d gotten their eyes right. That was the most important. Each of the Ten Essences had an analogous part of the human body—blood for liquid, hair for wood, and so forth. The eyes were associated with crystal and glass. The windows into a person’s mind and spirit. She set the page aside. Some men collected trophies. Others collected weapons or shields. Many collected spheres. Shallan collected people. People, and interesting creatures. Perhaps it was because she’d spent so much of her youth in a virtual prison. She’d developed the habit of memorizing faces, then drawing them later, after her father had discovered her sketching the gardeners. His daughter? Drawing pictures of darkeyes? He’d been furious with her—one of the infrequent times he’d directed his infamous temper at his daughter. After that, she’d done drawings of people only when in private, instead using her open drawing times to sketch the insects, crustaceans, and plants of the manor gardens. Her father hadn’t minded this—zoology and botany were proper feminine pursuits—and had encouraged her to choose natural history as her Calling. She took out a third blank sheet. It seemed to beg her to fill it. A blank page was nothing but potential, pointless until it was used. Like a fully infused sphere cloistered inside a pouch, prevented from making its light useful. Fill me. The creationspren gathered around the page. They were still, as if curious, anticipatory. Shallan closed her eyes and imagined Jasnah Kholin, standing before the blocked door, the Soulcaster glowing on her hand. The hallway hushed, save for a child’s sniffles. Attendants holding their breath. An anxious king. A still reverence. Shallan opened her eyes and began to draw with vigor, intentionally losing herself. The less she was in the now and the more she was in the then, the better the sketch would be. The other two pictures had been warm-ups; this was the day’s masterpiece. With the paper bound onto the board—safehand holding that—her freehand flew across the page, occasionally switching to other pencils. Soft charcoal for deep, thick blackness, like Jasnah’s beautiful hair. Hard charcoal for light greys, like the powerful waves of light coming from the Soulcaster’s gems. For a few extended moments, Shallan was back in that hallway again, watching something that should not be: a heretic wielding one of the most sacred powers in all the world. The power of change itself, the power by which the Almighty had created Roshar. He had another name, allowed to pass only the lips of ardents. Elithanathile. He Who Transforms. Shallan could smell the musty hallway. She could hear the child whimpering. She could feel her own heart beating in anticipation. The boulder would soon change. Sucking away the Stormlight in Jasnah’s gemstone, it would give up its essence, becoming something new. Shallan’s breath caught in her throat. And then the memory faded, returning her to the quiet, dim alcove. The page now held a perfect rendition of the scene, worked in blacks and greys. The princess’s proud figure regarded the fallen stone, demanding that it give way before her will. It was her. Shallan knew, with the intuitive certainty of an artist, that this was one of the finest pieces she had ever done. In a very small way, she had captured Jasnah Kholin, something the devotaries had never managed. That gave her a euphoric thrill. Even if this woman rejected Shallan again, one fact would not change. Jasnah Kholin had joined Shallan’s collection.
Brandon Sanderson (The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive, #1))
You can also check my blog’s archive for a list of every post I have written or use the search function below my picture in the sidebar to find other posts that might be of interest. My Biography I have worked in the book publishing industry my entire career. I began at Word Publishing while a student at Baylor University. I worked at Word for a total of six years. In addition to serving as vice president of marketing at Thomas Nelson in the mid-80s, I also started my own publishing company, Wolgemuth & Hyatt, with my partner Robert Wolgemuth in 1986. Word eventually acquired our company in 1992. I was a successful literary agent from 1992 until early 1998. However, I really missed the world of corporate publishing. As a result, I rejoined Thomas Nelson in 1998. I have worked in a variety of roles in both divisional and corporate management. I was CEO from August 2005 to April 2011, when I was succeeded by Mark Schoenwald. Additionally I am the former chairman of the Evangelical Christian Publishers Association (2006–2010). I have also written four books, one of which landed on the New York Times best-sellers list, where it stayed for seven months. I am currently working on a new book for Thomas Nelson. It is called Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World (May 2012). I have been married to my wife, Gail (follow her on Twitter @GailHyatt), for thirty-three years. We have five daughters, four grandsons, and three granddaughters. We live outside Nashville, Tennessee. In my free time, I enjoy writing, reading, running, and golfing. I am a member of St. Ignatius Orthodox Church in Franklin, Tennessee, where I have served as a deacon for twenty-three years. My Contact Information You can contact me via e-mail or follow me on Twitter or Facebook. Please note: I do not personally review book proposals or recommend specific literary agents. Colophon My blog is built on WordPress 3.1 (self-hosted). My theme is a customized version of Standard Theme, a simple, easy-to-use WordPress theme. Milk Engine did the initial customization. StormyFrog did some additional work. I highly recommend both companies. In terms of design, the body text font is Georgia. The titles and subhead fonts are Trebuchet MS. Captions and a few other random text elements are Arial. Keely Scott took most of my personal photos. Laurel Pankratz also took some. I get most of the photos for my individual
Michael Hyatt (Platform: Get Noticed in a Noisy World)
As an example, here are a few of the more popular social media IFTTT tasks that may help you organize your social media: • Send all your Tweets to a Google spreadsheet. • Update your Twitter profile picture when you update your Facebook profile picture. • Automatically Tweet your Facebook status updates. • Post all pictures posted to Instagram on Twitter. • Archive photos you are tagged in on Facebook to Dropbox. • Archive all links you share on Facebook to a single file in Evernote. • Archive all photos you “like” on Instagram to Dropbox. • Have your iPhone pictures emailed to you as you take them.
S.J. Scott (10-Minute Digital Declutter: The Simple Habit to Eliminate Overwhelm from Technology, Social Media, and Online Distractions)
But we weren't going to risk it. I said, focus on your picture, and so you drew a girl figure and wrote Sir Fus In Love, and then said it said Sara Falls In Love. I didn't want to correct your spelling because it really didn't matter that much, because who was going to see the drawing except us anyway?
Valeria Luiselli (Lost Children Archive)
I . . . had trouble concentrating.’ ‘So you came up on deck,’ Jasnah said, ‘to sketch pictures of young men working without their shirts on. You expected this to help your concentration?
Brandon Sanderson (Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive, #2))
General. At times, she felt as awkward in the position as these men did trying to paint pictures. She wore warform, as she needed the armor for battle, but she preferred workform. More limber, more rugged. It wasn’t that she disliked leading these men, but doing the same thing every day—drills, plateau runs—numbed her mind. She wanted to be seeing new things, going new places. Instead, she joined her people in a long funeral vigil as, one by one, they died.
Brandon Sanderson (Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive, #2))
Why are you so scared and creeping around, taking photographs all over town, pictures in the dark that live in the light, the world is my playground too and I’ll do what I like.
Archive
The artist Eleseth," Shallen observed to Pattern, "once did an experiment. She set out only ruby spheres, in their strength, to light her studio. She wanted to see what effect the all - red light would have upon her art." "Mmmm," Pattern said. "To what result?" "At first, during a painting session, the color of light affected her strongly. She would use too little red, and the fields of blossoms would look washed out." "Not unexpected." "The interesting thing, however, was what happened if she continued working," Shallen said, "If she painted for hours by that light, the effects diminished. The colors of her reproductions grew more balanced, the pictures of flowers more vivid. She eventually concluded that her mind compensated for the colors she saw. Indeed, if she switched the color of the light during a session, she'd continue for a time to paint as if the room were still read, reacting against the new color.
Brandon Sanderson (Words of Radiance (The Stormlight Archive, #2))
Imagine a world where speaking or writing words can literally or directly make things happen, where getting one of those words wrong can wreak unbelievable havoc, but where the right spell you can summon immensely powerful agencies to work your will. Imagine further that this world is administered: there is an extensive division of labour, among the magicians themselves and between the magicians and those who coordinate their activity. It's bureaucratic, and also (therefore) chaotic, and it's full of people at desks muttering curses and writing invocations, all beavering away at a small part of the big picture. The coordinators, because they don't understand what's going on, are easy prey for smooth-talking preachers of bizarre cults that demand arbitrary sacrifices and vanish with large amounts of money. Welcome to the IT department.
Ken MacLeod (The Atrocity Archives (Laundry Files, #1))
So, for example, Bell is mesmerized by a screen saver that draws on his personal archive to display random snapshots. Pictures of long-ago birthdays and family trips trigger waves of nostalgia. But during my visit, Bell tries to use search tools to find a particular photograph that is not coming up on the screen. He pursues one strategy, then another. Nothing works; he loses interest. One senses a new dynamic: when you depend on the computer to remember the past, you focus on whatever past is kept on the computer. And you learn to favor whatever past is easiest to find. My screen saver, my life.
Alone Together Why We Expect More from Technology and Less from Each Other
We are merely epigones. The events, the discoveries, the visions are those from the period between 1910 and 1940. We live on like weary commentators on that frenzied period in which the whole invention of modernity (and the lucid presentiment of its end) occurred in a language which still bore the brilliance of style. The highest level of intensity lies behind us. The lowest level of passion and intellectual illumination lies ahead of us. There is something like a general entropic movement in the century, the initial energy dissipating slowly in the sophisticated ramifications of the structural, pictural, ideological, linguistic and psychoanalytic revolutions - the final configuration, that of 'postmodernity' marking the most degraded, most factitious and most eclectic phase, the shattered fetishism of all the idols and the purer signs that have preceded it. Even the great burst of light in the years 1960-80, seen with some critical distance, will merely have been an episode in the involutive course of the century, in terms of powerful new ideas. But a portent all the same. Might a new event produce some surprise? We can say nothing of this, since archives and analysis are twilight tools.
Jean Baudrillard (Cool Memories)
But as I tucked the picture back in between some pages toward the end of the book, I realized something important, which is this: that everything that happened after I took the picture was also inside it, even though no one could see it, except me when I looked at it, and maybe also you, in the future, when you look at it, even if you didn't even see the original moment with your own eyes.
Valeria Luiselli (Lost Children Archive)
Criterion offered cineastes who wished to see the original version of a picture their only practical alternative to visiting an archive and lacing up the film themselves on a viewing machine. The company was dedicated to presenting movies uncut, using transfers sourced from the best available elements and, beginning with Invasion of the Body Snatchers, their eighth release, presented in their original theatrical ratios.
Michael Binder (A Light Affliction: a History of Film Preservation and Restoration)
It was the potential loss of silent pictures that began the archive movement in a number of countries around this time.
Michael Binder (A Light Affliction: a History of Film Preservation and Restoration)
I also like the constant tension in those pictures, a tension between document and fabrication, between capturing a unique fleeting instant and staging an instant. She wrote somewhere that photographs create their own memories, and supplant the past. In her pictures there isn’t nostalgia for the fleeting moment, captured by chance with a camera. Rather, there’s a confession: this moment captured is not a moment stumbled upon and preserved but a moment stolen, plucked from the continuum of experience in order to be preserved.
Valeria Luiselli (Lost Children Archive)