When one examines the faces of old photographs, those who shook and shaped history, one is helpless to interpret in them anything aside from pure weight. Behind the heaviness of brow, the sturdiness of mustache, an expression which pullulates with the force of its own sacrifice-vitality hypostasized into a function for the sake of world narrative. If one is in the unfortunate position of believing that history progresses, one purchased, through great turmoil, the plethora of smiles one finds in today's photographs. We are far closer to being on the brink of extinction, and yet we've purchased the ability to smile, as a single moment can be captured. The old photographs, not in the position to capture single moments, capture the common ground of all experience-the blankness of being captured in time, one's absolute inability to express oneself toward the future. We smile in photographs now to the degree that we are more easily scattered like bott-feeding sea creatures when a large rock falls into our midst.