"Say cheese..."

Just before I was reading a friend's "note" (as they like to call them on Facebook), which is basically another name for a "blog" (such as this). In it, my friend made a reference to the fact that her flat is filled with photographs. They're "everywhere" apparently. It then got me pondering about other friends and their houses and - come to think of it - they've also got the bug.

The reason I mention all of this is because every one of my photos are boxed and out of sight. In fact, I've never kept many photographs and have never framed them. Ever. Of course I can see the reasoning behind one wanting to be surrounded by photographs, but the greater (and entirely selfish) question has been begged: Why do I have none on display? After all, I live on my own and miles away from my family and friends, so it would really make sense to have snippets of the past on the walls and familiar faces of people I adore smiling back at me. It's not that I don't care. When I come to think of it, I have never been a great "snapper" though I kick myself now to think of all the missed opportunities.

I cringe when I see some photos of myself, but this reaction is hardly unique to me. In my mind the camera lies, for it accentuates some of my very worst features: all I see is a deviated septum and a huge chin, but over time I've convinced myself that these give me "character" and coupled with a sense of humour and a lack of genuine concern, I have developed a wall of resistance.

I suppose I am searching for an excuse - any excuse - to find a reason as to why I don't have photographs up or, rather, a reason to stop myself from putting photographs up in the future? I suppose it could be argued that it's just personal preference not to, but it's more than that, really. Instead I have anonymous art on my walls and an endless array of books and CDs on display. No photos. How odd!

Note to self: Invest in a camera. Turn flat into gallery. This time next year I'll be the new Annie Leibovitz...