smartphones, photography, and remembering

In 2017, I visited New York for the first time. One stand out moment from that trip was seeing Van Gogh’s Starry Night at the Museum of Modern Art. It’s a painting so famous that it can be seen almost as symbol of art itself. As I entered the room where this painting was, I noticed how crowded it was, everyone so eager to see. But as I stood there, I realised that it wasn’t really about seeing it at all. Phones were raised, photos snapped frantically, and people quickly moved on, satisfied they had 'captured' the moment.

I don’t believe anyone was doing this without genuine excitement or interest. But it did stick out to me how much of their attention was devoted to securing a photograph, rather than experiencing the artwork in front of them. It made me wonder (as always) about the connection between photography and memory. Are we so eager to document something because we fear we’ll forget it? Or do we sometimes let the act of taking a photo replace the need to remember? 

The question lived on, but most more notably and recently, came back to me in Paris in 2022. My boyfriend and I climbed Montmartre, and when we reached the top, we were met with a breathtaking view of the city. It was one of those moments that felt both brief and unforgettable all at once. I was in Paris for a very special reason and something about this felt really significant to me. 

I recall saying to myself, or maybe even out loud, “I want to remember this moment. I’m not going to take a photo.” It wasn’t a grand gesture or an act of rebellion, just my choice to focus on the moment itself. And to this day, I can indeed still remember the sunlight catching on the rooftops, the chatter of people around us, and the feeling of gratitude that washed over me. All of that, without an image.

Last summer, in London, I saw another iteration of this in Madame Tussauds. My family and I were making our way through the museum when I noticed the groups ahead of us. They stopped to pose with every single figure - celebrities, historical figures, even characters they might not recognise. They stopped and photographed with every. single. one. Hundreds of photos were being taken over the course of their journey through the museum. 

I couldn’t help but wonder: will those photos really help them remember the day? Or will they just sit on a phone, forgotten until a chance scroll years later? I wasn’t trying to be judgemental; I was just genuinely thinking about how smartphone photography has changed the way we relate to our experiences.

For someone who studied photography, I’ve found myself photographing less and less over the years. Learning about the theory behind the medium changed how I see it. Every photo is a choice: what to frame, what to leave out, what story to tell. This understanding hasn’t made me anti-photography - it’s just made me more hesitant. Sometimes to the point of paralysis.

When I do take a photo, I want it to have purpose. I want it to represent something I've felt or noticed, not just serve as proof that I was somewhere or did something. But even with that intention, I’ve found that some of my most meaningful recent memories don’t have photographs attached to them. Instead, they live in my mind, shaped by the emotions I felt in those moments.

I think always about how different photography was just a generation ago. Cameras were film-based, and every frame mattered and cost money. You couldn’t take endless photos and delete the ones you didn’t like. That scarcity gave photographs a certain weight. Today, with smartphone cameras and limitless storage, that weight has lifted. I think about my recent work ' To Jack', and how so many children now will not have access to tangible traces of memory in the form of their 35mm printed family album. I mourn for that. 

But maybe it’s not about whether we take too many photos or not enough. Maybe it’s about finding a balance - about being intentional with what we capture and making sure it doesn’t come at the cost of experiencing a moment. I allow myself to steal a snap or two at a concert, but also feel the conscious decision to try and take it all in, without viewing the show entirely through a screen. 

Some moments are meant to be lived fully, without the lens of a camera. Others are worth capturing because they hold something I want to revisit. But I know that no photograph can ever fully replace the act of remembering - of truly being present and letting a moment embed itself into your mind.

I'm not entirely sure how to wrap up this post. I don't actually even know where I was going with it when I sat down to write. I want to make it clear that I don't mean to come across as snobby, and I understand how to some people, the photographs on their phone are everything, and not everyone has the same knowledge and thoughts about images that have formed my way of thinking about all of this. I also understand the contradictions I've made when I talk about photographs being unable to replace memory but then talk about how lucky I feel to have had albums full of photographs to look back on... I suppose it's probably all linked back to my One Big Thing: tactility. 

Maybe I feel this way specifically about smartphone photography because I know they will never exist in the world as 'real' photographs, as objects. Why does this matter so much to me? Is it because of how important my 'real' photographs have been to me in my projects 'Every Saturday' and 'To Jack'? 

I don’t have all the answers, but I’m intrigued by all of these ideas and questions - and I’d like to figure them out. Ultimately, maybe it’s less about having all the answers and more about continuing to ask the questions. Photography, memory, and the way we hold onto moments are all deeply personal, and there’s no single truth. What matters is finding the balance that feels right - between capturing and experiencing, between images and memories, between the fleeting and the lasting.