I’m reading Susan Sontag’s On Photography, and somewhere she writes something that stopped me in my tracks. [...] essentially the camera makes everyone a tourist in other people’s reality, and eventually in one’s own.

I’ve thought about this before, naturally, i imagine anyone involved in photography wonders about this one time or another. And i do feel like a tourist sometimes in the lives of others. But i hadn’t considered the fact that i might be one in my own life too.

Consider these three photographs. i took them on three completely separate occasions. I was – in no particular order- drunk, happy and confused. three different occasions, three different states of mind, but what strikes me that there’s a distance in all three of them. and what’s more: you can’t even tell from the photos what i felt. In all three i’m just someone who looks, an observer if anything, i’m not really there, although i remember all three occasions distinctly, they were all part of my life, still are, and those occasions meant something to me and still do.

naturally, this doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s just three photographs i dug up from my archive. this doesn’t mean i’m a tourist, yet. But it’s something to think about.