Generally, I can resist a pretty magazine. I am good at this because I'm a blogger, I think - I know that I can get better content on my favourite blogs, but then sometimes, I'm in a train station in Sheffield and the sun is shining and I'm enticed in by pretty pictures in pretty magazines. That's how I came to pick up Cereal. It's one of those magazine that it's in a similar vein to Kinfolk or Oh Comely - lifestyle centric and stunningly shot. I devoured it on a hot train home, and I can't bare to part with it, the pictures are so pretty.
But when I did arrive home, my mother had been sorting through great crates of photographs and pictures and postcards and all sorts of wonderful little things from her youth, from my youth, from my grandmothers youth. Whilst I love beautifully shot magazines, my heart will have a soft spot for a bad photo.
Over exposed, underexposed, light leaked, or poorly framed - I love a ruined photo. There's something heartwarming about a half recognised face lit by angry red film. I also love just the weird photos that someone took, particularly in film, of a strange building, an odd bit of flooring: something someone chose to capture, because for that instant it was important, but the reasoning has been lost.
This might not make sense to some, but I'm a fan of the extremes of photos, from the beautifully, impeccably shot lifestyle editorials, to the snapshots of long gone family, ruined by a poor photographer. I can't bear to part with any of them; I'm a hoarder.