[photopress:MagrittePipe.jpg,thumb,alignright] Not like â€œThis is not a pipe” (Ceci n’est pas une pipe) the famous painting by Magritte.
Nothing like that.
Instead itâ€™s a bit of thanksgiving memory that has a photo of an object as itâ€™s touch point.
When I was a kid, we used to have thanksgiving dinner at out house or apt. The cousins always joined us, the good flatware came out, and thatâ€™s just what you did.
Mom cooked the turkey in a paper bag to keep it at a certain moisture level, and the pies were a sweet pecan.
But the appetizer was the most unique item.
A seafood mixture with a creamy binder, the origins of which I canâ€™t remember, and bread crumbs.
All mixed together and served in shells. Like this one shown above.
I can kinda remember what it tasted like, and of course the experience of the meal and the hanging with family was the main event.
Mad Libs always followed the dinner. Thatâ€™s how we showed off our intellectual and clever prowess to each other. Or totally silly and sophomoric tendencies. But we were in the comfort of our family, so you could be as stupid as you liked. All just to entertain each other
Thanksgiving will never be like that again. Memories that will last forever.
When my mom passed away this year, we had the task of going through all of her worldly possessions and making decisions on their disbursement. Including all of the kitchen apparatus.
Pots that she cooked her favorite dishes in, utensils that sliced and served holiday dinners, the forks and knives that would only appear once a year.
When these shells appeared, the siblings knew what to with them: give each one a shell to remember those dinners.
And now I share that shell with you.
Or the photograph of it. So, you see, itâ€™s not really an empty shell.
As we move through our short lives, there are elements that hold a secret meaning to each of us. When we photograph them, hopefully there is a common ground that allows the viewer to enter and bring something to it.
We all know though, that each image has itâ€™s own significance to the photographer. A reason it an object or scene happened in front of our lenses.
Itâ€™s not important to always know the reason behind it, though. It could be a larger story, or a record of life.
We all have our touchpoints.
And thanks to my family for making this object a significant part of my life.
(Jeff, this is actually my family. For real.)
And thanks mom, for the seafood dish Iâ€™ll always remember. Every year. On this day.
I hope you all are making new memories today, and keeping your camera close to interpret those times.