I’ve tried to remember when I was growing up, how many pictures were on display in my home. What I recall is that we didn’t have that many. Not compared to what I saw in other people’s houses, or the fictional homes that I would see on TV. It felt like the few photos we did have on display were put there more by obligation than desire. My mom (who has passed away) would have been the one responsible for such things, and I never thought to ask her about why she did, or didn’t like hanging photos on the wall.
Now when it came to taking pictures, there was much more intention. Both my mom and dad would gather my sister and I in front of the camera for significant events and holidays. Photos that captured poses in front of the Christmas tree, the spontaneous snapshots opening birthday presents, and silly moments of our dogs doing goofy tricks or other adorable random things. I know partly why we took more photos than we framed. They were to send to my grandparents and extended family who lived in Minnesota.
As I grew up, my relationship with being photographed, and photos in general, was nuanced. As far as being photographed, I was self-conscious because of body image insecurity issues. I knew I should’t feel bad about how I looked in photos, but that didn’t mean I didn’t. I think that insecurity bled over into framing and putting photos on display.