Memorial and Photography

But when the photograph outlives the body — when people die, scenes change, trees grow or are chopped down — it becomes a memorial. And when the thing photographed is a work of art or architecture that has been destroyed, this effect is amplified even further. A painting, sculpture or temple, as a record of both human skill and emotion, is already a site of memory; when its only remaining trace is a photograph, that photograph becomes a memorial to a memory.
— Teju Cole, writer. "Memories of Things Unseen." NYTimes

An old friend from school whom I reconnected with two years ago shared this article. The quote above points to the core of why I love photography and the way I  practice the medium. Whether they are quiet pictures of interiors, God filled light basking the landscape, a portrait or a still life, I am cognizant of the fact that what is in front of my lens is temporary. That pause- that moment of realization weighs heavily on me to make sure the photographs I make or capture contain some depth of emotion or meaning before I press the shutter. So even when I view these pictures decades later, they still carry with it the meaningfulness of that fleeting moment and tugs at my spirit.