There’s something that happens when you print a photo. It becomes finite. This created what we might call a “scarcity mindset” that shaped how people approached documentation. Instead of capturing every moment, photographers had to choose which moments were worth preserving. You only had 24 or 36 shots on a roll, and each frame cost you time and money. Printing brings some of that feeling back.
The first print was of two bundled-up friends sitting on a winter bench glowing with holiday decorations. Cameras hanging from their necks, smiles warm despite the frost. That one, I framed. Because it’s not just a holiday shot—it’s a memory of shared creative energy. A moment worth preserving.
The second print? A couple running through the snow in their wedding outfits. Him in a tux, her in a white suit and sunglasses, bouquet in hand. It was too joyful, too brave, too Toronto not to print. That one is going on my fridge. I never met them, but that’s the kind of bold love story that deserves to live on paper.
And the third print shows my photo walk group—wandering through a blooming street, looking in every direction but the camera. Everyone in their element, camera straps swinging. It’s a slice of what we do: chase beauty, connection, and small stories hiding in ordinary corners.
I didn’t print everything. Just those three. But that’s the point. Printing reminded me that not every photo needs to be kept. Some are just sketches. But a few—just a few—deserve the dignity of paper and light.
Bob
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