The Lomography Gallery Store, situated in an unassuming
white building on the corner of Herengracht, is an ode to the beauty of
analogue photography. Their camera products, all visible moving parts and
plastic construction, are a nice departure from modern technology. With so many
touch-screen devices and miniature electronics permeating our world, something
about Lomography’s physical buttons and wind-up film reels generate a nostalgia
that outweighs modern sensations of taps and swipes.
Upon
entering the store, one is immediately struck by the juxtaposition of plastic and
metal. Lomography’s many lines of cameras, from pinhole to fisheye to
multiframe to color-corrected, are moulded from plastic casings and faux
leather textures, a far cry from the aluminum unibodies of our digital cameras.
However, these seeming antiques are displayed on pristine wood and metal stands
with spot lighting; this gives the store a whole sense of modern luxury, but
with a touch of heritage reminiscent of a museum display. I found it oddly
similar to a modern Louis Vuitton retailer, whose leather-bound trunks impart a
weathered history of both leisure and adventure, but are contrastingly displayed
in glass cases to be ogled like specimens.
In fact, the dreamy, oversaturated and even blurry photos that the Lomo
cameras capture elicit memories of old photo albums. Even looking at example
photographs on display give a viewer a private glimpse into a life apart from
our online presence and ubiquity of social photosharing networks. These are film prints likely to have been made
only once, that can only be held by one person at one time, which is a genuine
effect that only can be imparted by film photography.
This
voyeuristic nature brings me now to the gallery aspect of the space. Aside from
the shimmering and almost fetishistic displays of the cameras—which come in all
colors and sizes—what also stands out immediately is the spiral staircase in
the center of the store, whose adjoining wall is utterly plastered with the
Lomographic prints. This mosaic of
identically sized photos captures family members, girlfriends, dogs, old homes,
and more. Are these from the life of one
person? Or from the employees? Or contributions from passersby and Lomography
fans? --These are questions that the
great wall evokes. But it is the fact
that these photos come with no explanation that reflects perfectly the mood of
Lomography—blurry, mysterious, yet imparting a sense of familiarity and
nostalgia that few products can do similarly.
A further
exploration of the building reveals a startling addition—that the shop is
actually a converted home. Travelling up
the spiral staircase, I stumbled upon a living room that had been converted
into a private gallery. The store ‘s
effort to maintain a theme of home works successfully in this area complete
with sofas, coffee table books, and a fireplace. The walls, decorated as if by a homeowner
filling their house with photographs of their family and vacations, are lined
with Lomographic prints donated from customers around the world, each with
their own backstory. It’s a quiet
resting place to peruse other people’s lives while reflecting on one’s own,
which was only accentuated by the fact that no one else entered the space while
I was there.
A house and
a home are utterly different things, yet Lomography’s interior design as well
as product line blur the boundary between what one can consider a familiar
space. Likewise, cameras are only a tool
to capture our life’s moments, but the prints’ ability to touch a sensitive
emotion place—home and family, are what make their cameras almost intrinsically
like family heirlooms. By projecting
nostalgia through their photographs and minimalist presentation of their cameras,
the store invites a viewer to contemplate their own history and seek a
nostalgia of their own.
No comments:
Post a Comment