imperfect traces
from "this i believe" on npr:
I am a child of the digital age, but I believe in analog.
I love the hiss and pop of vinyl, and the black splotch in the corner when a movie changes reels. I enjoy the hushed, uneven ticking of a windup watch. I love handwriting.
I believe in analog because it captures the imperfect traces left behind by human hands - smudges and echoes that can't disappear with the touch of a delete key.
.... As the world went digital and the Matrix movies played to packed houses, I found myself drawn to fountain pens, clothbound books and bargain-priced LPs.
One night the fuses blew and my husband and I had to choose between light and music for our one remaining outlet. We opted for music and sat close together in the darkness as the worn out needle brought Art Pepper back from the dead, his saxophone weaving cracked tapestries of sound.
Today I am a food writer. I live in the realm of the tactile, which could be the last stronghold of the analog world. I think that taste, smell and touch are like the armies of the resistance, hiding underground while their flashy audiovisual siblings take the world by storm.
Sometimes, my husband and I hold hands and scan the sky for constellations, roughly sketching the seasons as they pass overhead. "Is it November already?" we ask each other when Orion rises into view. It's a way of keeping time, inexact at best, but it's a better reminder than the digital alarm clock that wakes us each day at 5 a.m.
....Maybe the digital revolution, like an irrational number, will never come to an end. But for me there will always be a place for the whisper, the crackle, the shades of mottled gray. For the sake of my own imperfect soul, I believe in analog.
--t. susan chang
I am a child of the digital age, but I believe in analog.
I love the hiss and pop of vinyl, and the black splotch in the corner when a movie changes reels. I enjoy the hushed, uneven ticking of a windup watch. I love handwriting.
I believe in analog because it captures the imperfect traces left behind by human hands - smudges and echoes that can't disappear with the touch of a delete key.
.... As the world went digital and the Matrix movies played to packed houses, I found myself drawn to fountain pens, clothbound books and bargain-priced LPs.
One night the fuses blew and my husband and I had to choose between light and music for our one remaining outlet. We opted for music and sat close together in the darkness as the worn out needle brought Art Pepper back from the dead, his saxophone weaving cracked tapestries of sound.
Today I am a food writer. I live in the realm of the tactile, which could be the last stronghold of the analog world. I think that taste, smell and touch are like the armies of the resistance, hiding underground while their flashy audiovisual siblings take the world by storm.
Sometimes, my husband and I hold hands and scan the sky for constellations, roughly sketching the seasons as they pass overhead. "Is it November already?" we ask each other when Orion rises into view. It's a way of keeping time, inexact at best, but it's a better reminder than the digital alarm clock that wakes us each day at 5 a.m.
....Maybe the digital revolution, like an irrational number, will never come to an end. But for me there will always be a place for the whisper, the crackle, the shades of mottled gray. For the sake of my own imperfect soul, I believe in analog.
--t. susan chang