Photographs should be circular.
Circles make so much more sense when it comes to people. It’s the easiest way to draw the connection. I mean, will you call your friends a square? You’re all sitting and you’re all connected in a way that has no, well, angles to it.
Angles make it so cruel. Anything. A right angle is so blunt, It’s a fact, not an opinion, not a feeling. An acute one is narrow. So limiting! Imagine sitting with a friend and all you think about is, how the person is confined. In an angle. An obtuse angle, you’d say- is freeing. But it’s not complete, you know? It’s incomplete and a little too free of responsibility. Nothing to rest your back on.
Any quadrangle makes things distort. Have you ever tried peeping into your TV, into the sides to see what was happening beyond that screen? I have. It’s silly, but there’s so much more to everything that a straight line just leaves you disappointed and empty. A photo in a polygram is a memory- yes. But when you were in it, don’t you remember the noise? And the way the sky looked? The colour of the air then? An edge cuts them off. Tells you where to draw the line. And circles don’t do that. They give me the feeling that the world’s growing.
Ideally I’d have a vast, vast circle of sorts. That can include everything I saw right them, with a bit of peripheral vision. They connect feelings. Circles draw in people. They divide, but they don’t edge people away.That’s something you don’t want. A corner of a room. An uncomfortable place for your final say.
I’ll tell you a memory I have, which wouldn’t need a photograph for it to be etched. I’m sitting in a room, with the dim lights on. With friends and non-friends. One’s head is on my lap, and he’s asleep. The others, me included are playing truth or dare. The guy I liked then, (Hello, if you’re reading this) is sitting a foot away, to my left. I asked this girl- sitting opposite me, why she doesn’t talk. What she replied, is lengthy- but I’ll get to the best words she said. “How can feelings be right or wrong?”
The episode apart. It’s the room. The buzz of the breathing, and people talking, the tickling awareness of this boy sitting besides me, the warmth of my friend’s head on my lap, and the silence between that girl and me as she asked me to verify the one single-most relevant thing between us. How could I capture that moment in a square? It makes it so insignificant.
But the moment concentrates in her dark eyes and expands like a growing vortex, beginning to include the colours, the moods and the breath of people in the room.
Moments are circular. And if photographs are memories, reminders, reincarnations of those, they should be, too.