With all the images being shared on Instagram, about 52-million a day — the death of a grandmother, a tourist attraction monument, a cat, and so on — how much of our memory do these images occupy? To think about how Instagram is used in a different way, imagine swimming down a river and then trying to return to where you had begun: swimming against the tide is an impossible task.
It is possible, if you think of the habits of users, that the image of a massacre can be replaced with a picture of a cat posing in the window of a home. The two images, while not being compared, hold the same weight of interest, although the former, one can argue, is deserving of longer attention.
Instagram does not so much work as a means to share our good and bad times with others, but as our own memory bank. Scrolling past an image of someone mourning for their grandparents or a cat sitting in a window rest on two spectrums of emotional range; perhaps the sharing is not an act of soliciting empathy or joy from anyone, but rather a means to archive the many deaths and joys we experience in life.