What will I say?
This is me. Crying.
This is a kids’ birthday party.
This is a kids’ birthday party in the 1950s.
This is a kids’ birthday party in suburbia in the 1950s.
This is a kids’ birthday party in a Detroit suburb in the 1950s.
Or (as I once quipped): “I told you there was something upsetting about suburbia!”
The statement we rarely make is: This is a photograph.
Or:
Hello. This is me. Holding this print in my hand. Scanning it. Reproducing it. Pasting it in. Saying things about it.
Or:
This photograph has a history. A technological history. A personal history. A social history.
Or:
Hello. It’s me again. I am making archives.
Or:
I am lost. In a good way.
Echoing. Haunting without terror. Humorous. Or maybe “these children, all captive to legacy not of their making, need an advocate, and here she comes, though unwillingly.” Or suggests such an invitation to contribute, my apologies
This is lovely. Great picture, view of picture, view of view of picture. Nice.