A STORY

On photography and memory...

My name is Sandra Pfeiffer, and I am a multi-disciplinary artist specialising in photography, jewellery design, painting, and installation art.

Why do I feel the need to capture my world and inconvenience others by asking them to pose for me?

I take pictures because I feel compelled to, perhaps out of a fear of missing out on the essence of life. However, there are moments when I would rather fully immerse myself in the present instead of interrupting it to document it photographically. But once a moment passes, it's gone forever, already replaced by something new.

At times, I try to let go of this constant need to capture every moment. Yet, inevitably, the desire to photograph resurfaces. I find myself wishing I had taken a picture of my friend sitting by the kitchen table, under that particular lamp whose existence I had forgotten.

While I can replay the meaningful conversations we had in my mind, they can't replace the visual context provided by a photograph. The small details, how the person looked during that time, noticing that I still have the same table in my kitchen twenty years later, bring back memories of a time that was simply different.

I take photographs because they provoke thought and allow me to see. And it's a bonus when they provoke thought in others too.

Photography serves as a record of the times we live in. Isn't that what we appreciate about it when we look at pictures taken by artists like Man Ray? The stories told through photographs, and the way they are presented, reflect not only what the photographers wanted to capture from their surroundings and their understanding of their era, but also the aesthetic inherently tied to their contemporaneity. It's like peering into a whole world; these photographs spark our imagination and almost make us recall times and places we haven't experienced ourselves.

I contemplate this photograph of my father and me, him carrying me on his shoulders. It's a small image from the 1970s, originally with rounded corners. Obviously, I can't remember that moment—I was too young. Yet, as I look at the picture, it becomes a part of me; I feel like I've lived that moment. Though I can't recall any of it, since it's captured in a photograph, I can't deny its existence. I appear so small, and my father seems so young and happy! This photo serves as a more reliable witness of my past than my own memory, and that fact is quite refreshing.

That little person here is actually me.