My first experience shooting with a Polaroid 600 camera started out as an exercise in seeing: one summer, many years ago, I decided that I would hold myself to one Polaroid a day. No more, no less. I liked the idea of finding one decisive and image-worthy moment in my life every day. It led to some anxiety: what if I had taken my allotted Polaroid in the morning, but then in the afternoon I encountered an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime photograph? No dice. Couldn’t shoot it. Conversely, I would sometimes pass up a photo opportunity in the hopes that something better would come along later that day. While there were lots of misses, for sure, I loved the limited control that the film and camera offered: the entire developing and printing process occurred in one minute in my back pocket. The only agency I really had was in seeing the image and releasing the shutter.
Recently, I went back through my Polaroids and noticed that a number of the older images were starting to deteriorate. Bits of dried chemicals flaked around the edges, and the layers of dye were starting to becoming visible. In an attempt to preserve these photographs, I scanned and printed them digitally, and found that enlarging the Polaroids brought these physical qualities forward.
In these images, I am interested in how the physical deterioration of the photograph is echoed in the objects captured by the camera. The photographs I have chosen for this series were made in locations that I most likely will never visit again; my entire experience of the place was fleeting and contained in a single image