At the brocante market I found a box of antique glass photographs. Lifting one up at at a time towards the light I saw the images of a family, sitting outside, in front of a house.Though I noticed if I held them against something dark defined details appeared. But as the antique glass slides (Ambrotype?) were full of grim, and dust it was easier to see them against the light.
I asked the brocante dealer if she knew more about the images on the glass slides. Shrugging her shoulders, she said she had found them in an attic of a house she had cleaned. "The owners were going to throw them away so I kept them. I am selling them for five euro a piece."
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How do you decide which ones to buy and which ones to leave? There were at least thirty or so slides. I looked at each of them, noticed the details of their expressions, their clothing, the props they used – a chair, some plants, a nightstand– How they wore their hair, the crispness of their aprons… and that there were three boys in the group of women.
I don't know why out of the hundred of old images I see regularly at the brocante why these spoke to me, or why I felt compelled to buy them. But they did. I have noticed that when the photos are on glass I find their fragility appealing, as if they are alive because they could break.
Looking through my own photos I found a few that were taking outside, by our house, that had a similar feel. One of the reason I love living in France is seeing history repeat itself, seeing history living within the cobblestones, worn shutters, ancient facades… going to the brocante I feel like I connect pieces of past lives to mine. As if I a reaching back and springing ahead while standing in one place.
The last photo: Chelsea and Sacha standing in front of our home at Christmastime.
Note:
19th century silent film. Families outside.
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