"That is the most important book you will ever make." Dan Milnor recalls telling a Blurb customer in response to the realisation that books could be a vessel for family photos, not just a commercial enterprise. “I can make a book for my family. I can use the photos we’ve had our entire lives.”
It begs the question, what makes a family photobook gift worthy, while a family photo Dropbox account isn’t a present worth sharing?

William Morris is reported to have taught, "have nothing in your houses, that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." In considering my own home, his words have resonated with me, even more than Marie Kondo's best selling philosophy of living with only what "sparks joy." However, when we come to consider the photo objects we keep, I believe both mantras inadequate.
In Evocative Objects: Things We Think With Sherry Turkle notes, "we find it familiar to consider objects as useful or aesthetic...we are on less familiar ground when we consider objects a companions to our emotional lives or provocations to thought."
Photographs can be aesthetically pleasing, functional, as well as evocative (and more) – none of these are mutually exclusive or set in stone, and will always be subjective. But perhaps, thinking about these categories could help decide if a particul...
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THIS PHOTOGRAPH HAS BEEN DELETED

Yes, you read that right — I uploaded this photograph privately to Pinterest, then I deleted it.
When I hit delete I was told “you won’t be able to get it back,” before confirming my intention, again hitting delete. The fact you can see this file at all means, theoretically, that all private uploads to Pinterest are public (if you can find them). While I don’t know how long this photograph will last on a server somewhere in the world, I thought I’ll leave it here (as a linked image), and together we shall see!
Post Script — the words in this photograph are by the inspirational picture book maker Oliver Jeffers and Austin Kleon, from whose blog you too can download Read a Book Instead for your screen.
At some point, before we can see a photograph, the light we've captured lies dormant in darkness. We require chemistry or electronic technology to make photographs visible.
Once a photograph is made physically visible, as a negative or print, it requires nothing more than light for us to see it. Digital photographic files rely on ongoing intervention in order to be visible — is a digital photograph still a photograph when it’s not being viewed on screen?
When digital cameras were developed, many that argued that digital photography was not true photography. That's changed, so have our dictionaries to reflect evolving language — you'd have a hard time finding someone today that denies a digital photograph its name. While the file may be different from the photograph, they remain inseparable, just as printed photograph is bound to the paper it is printed on.

Let me begin by saying, the cloud is not actually a cloud, nor is it in a cloud — shocking, I know!
You’re probably wondering where it is then, well, it is right here on earth, so more of a fog, really — a mass of data storage near the earth’s surface. This fog hovers in data centres (which I understand to basically be buildings filled with hard drives), and there are hundreds, maybe thousands, of data centres around the world.
While I was wondering where photographs stored in the cloud really are, I started marking data centre locations on a map, until I quickly began running out of room, but I think you get the picture — your pictures could be almost anywhere on earth (but as far as I can see, probably not Antarctica)!
For a more expert, yet accessible, understanding you could read Cloud Computing by Nayan Ruparelia. And, from now on, let us be sure to think of the cloud as a physical storage location, not simply a dreamy, untouchable haven.

TAKE A WALK THROUGH YOUR HOME, WITHOUT MOVING ANYTHING, WHAT PHOTOGRAPHS CAN YOU SEE?
I arrive home, ignoring the junk mail in my hand, I see three bookshelves, laden with words as well as photographs. I put my bag down, grab a glass of water from the kitchen, where any unsightly packaging, including anything with photos, is hidden behind doors. Then I sit down to take my shoes off, to my left is a black and white salon-inspired gallery wall, there's an array of framed prints and, of course, photographs:
B-sides, seconds, outtakes, rejects, duplicates, bloopers, mistakes, failures, accidents, out of focus, poorly exposed, boring, unsatisfactory, unacceptable, uninteresting, unflattering or indecisive moments — we’ve all got them, but what do we do with them?
Do you archive them anyway, because the cost of digital storage is negligible? Or do you delete them, if you feel certain they don’t need to see the light of day?
Admittedly, my approach is ad-hoc and non-committal. Sometimes, I delete photographs from my digital camera, if I can clearly see that the photograph is not one I want to keep (although it's not always easy to judge on a small screen). Once I've copied all photographs onto a computer, I usually view them in Lightroom. When I come across a photograph that inspires me to hit delete, a dialogue box pops up asking if to "delete the selected master photo from disk, or just remove it from Lightroom?" The options are to 'delete from disk' or 'remove' — my response is a coin toss, but either way, I will not return to the dismissed digital file again...
In Delete: The Virtue of Forgetting in the Digital Age, Victor Mayer-Schönbe...
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In Known and Strange Things, Teju Cole reflects on a discussion about photography with an anonymous acquaintance who agreed that “what was important was the possibility of retention, not the actual retention itself."
The emerging trend of photographs taken with no intention of retention — proliferated by apps like Snapchat — was an affront to my photographic sensibilities. My innate belief was that the purpose of photography was to make fleeting moments visible for future time, and I could not fathom premeditated deletion. Nor, I’m sure, could those who pioneered photographic technologies and techniques for fixing the shadows (see also) to surfaces for future viewing.
However, gradually I made new observations about my own photographic habits, discovering that in fact, I did take photographs I had no intention of retaining — I did not actively discard them, but nor did I actively keep, store or care for them. Certainly, I do not need to k...
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While it may crude to divide the photograph in two, it is necessary to define the parameters of my research. I think most writing on photography (rightly) focuses on what I refer to as the image – I'm interested in studying the vessel.
After sketching this diagram I realised that it corresponds to Stephen Shore's concepts in The Nature of Photographs. He outlines three levels on which a photograph can be viewed: physical, depictive, and mental.
Although the physical aspects of viewing a photograph he describes can still apply to photographs viewed on screen, when the book was written in 2007 (the year I began my tertiary photographic studies) the focus was on printed photographs.
The term vessel was chosen to encompases all photographic containers, both hard (e.g. print) and soft copy (e.g. digital file).
HOW MANY PHOTOGRAPHS OF YOU COULD A STRANGER FIND ONLINE?
More than I'd like, probably some I'll never see, some I'd prefer forgotten, but none with consequential regret.
Facebook allows users to store an unlimited number of high-resolution photos — over 350 million photos are uploaded per day. Sure, you may be happy to give Mark Zuckerberg a royalty-free, worldwide licence to your intellectual property, and apparently “you can delete your account any time” But, is there something you’re missing? And, “what will happen to your Facebook account when you pass away?” Yours, not mine – I don’t have one.
INSTAGRAM IS NOT A BACKUP SERVICE
Instagram has over 800 million accounts globally — I wonder how many of those users read the Terms of Use before proceeding:
“Instagram encourages you to maintain your own backup of your Content. In other words, Instagram is not a backup service and you agree that you will not rely on the Service for the purposes of Content backup or storage. Instagram will not be liable to you for any modification, suspension, or discontinuation of the Services, or the loss of any Content.”
Where else is your Instagram content stored? Also, when was the last time you read the terms and conditions of any online service before accepting them?