Normally, I don't like taking or sharing photographs - why replace the moment with a record of it? Isn't that the function of memory? Granted, memories shift every time you recall - or don't - recall them, but isn't that the fun of it - that your memory is actually dependant on the present and the present's plan's for the future? That it captures who you are, now and then? Yes, yes, all representation is subject to interpretation blah blah. But to some degree, a photo is static. If a doorway is blue, it will always be blue - well, until the photo fades - when your memory can repaint it brown or red...
Representations will always be less than experience (says the woman who doubts everything, who lives almost entirely in her head, and who thinks we could be simulations and still be happy - which is actually compatible if you think about it).
Having said this, here is a glimpse into my life, of literature and writing:
My writing and reading spot. A wild garden, a filled-in well, sunlight and a blanket.
The reads sitting on my bookshelf, waiting for the perfect moment to be read. Every book has a perfect moment and I can tell you exactly when and where and why I adopted every one of them.
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