Projector

This was my Dad’s movie projector. Dad would reluctantly drag the projector and screen only a few times every couple of years. Setting it up always involved searching for an extension cord, finding a suitable table, and dealing with a screen that invariably rolled up. As a kid, this elaborate setting up process was always an opportunity to learn new Hungarian curse words. The distinctive smell of the bulb, the mechanical sound of film moving through gears, and images of distant strangers or familiar neighbours, which illuminated our dark living room, are all imprinted in my mind. There’s something wondrous in the deliberate effort once needed to immortalize a moment, now overshadowed by the simplicity of grabbing our phones and hitting the red button. Memories, once buried, can be rediscovered in found film, providing a tangible connection to yesteryears. What will happen with all our iPhone memories? All in all, my Dad would have asked why anyone would want to bother looking at old things anyway.