SchoolArts - April 2007

An Ode to the

Slide Projector

ecca Arkenberg

Introducing the Mystery

my bursitis- i nduc ing cargo I receive all sorts of attention. “What’s in there?” “Can I help?” They approach the projec- tor like curious deer. The first ten minutes are generally devoted to explaining how it works, and if a light should pop I become Super Projector Woman, able to remove the mysterious bulb and replace it in a matter of seconds, like a skillful surgeon.

I generally place the projector on
top of its hard shell case. We turn
off the classroom lights, I flip the
projector switch, advance the carou-
sel, and deftly
focus the first
slide to a cho-
rus of admiring
“oohs” and
“aahs.” By the
time we are
into the second
slide, the first row has become a
troupe of shadow puppet masters. I
field requests from volunteers who
want to go up to the projected image
to point out something . . . anything
. . . ah, the lure of the spotlight.
Meanwhile, teetering on its pre-
carious stack of science books, the
projector has begun to rattle. I can
no longer hear responses from the
distant sides or back of the room.
The whoosh of the fan seems over-
powering, and someone has noticed
that the air issuing from the back of
the projector is hot.

han a computer.

have been ers all their ctor brings mys- sroom.

T p j tor rattled off the assembly line in October 2004. Google “Kodak Slide Projector” and you will reach a poignant and somewhat mixed message: “The Slide: Simply a Better Image,” followed by a series of haiku-like declarations: “Kodak stopped manufacturing slide projectors in 2004. This is an archival Web site for your reference. Many answers to questions about Kodak slide projectors can be found here. Time-sensitive data such as contact information may change over time. This site is a snapshot view, frozen in time as of November 2004. It is not updated.”

But what will happen to the millions of slide projectors moldering away in closets and AV offices? And the billions of fading slides, lovingly collected by art history teachers. Will the computer really replace the slide projector? Perhaps it has in some wired classrooms, but those of us who regularly visit schools armed with a thirty-five-pound projector, slides, extension cords, extra bulbs, not to mention art supplies and posters, know and exploit the secret of the slide projector. It’s a dinosaur, a typewriter, a hurdy-gurdy—it’s old, unfamiliar, and so much more fasci-

Memories

Art in the dark—we all can remember how an art history teacher could either put us straight to sleep or entrance us into really looking, making us feel as if we were standing at Giotto’s shoulder or wandering the halls of the Louvre. Time either flew by or dragged until we longed for a broken bulb or an upside-down slide. And who can forget the drama of a slide stuck in a hot machine, slowly melting and transforming the room into a psychedelic rock show.

It’s a dinosaur, a typewriter,
a hurdy-gurdy—it’s old,
unfamiliar, and so much
more fascinating than a
computer.

Ending the Show

I generally work with only a few slides, leaving time for an activ- ity, so just as the glory of the slide begins to pall, we turn the overhead lights back on, open the shades, turn off the projector light, and launch into our project.

The projector appears to have been forgotten. As time to leave approaches I quietly begin unplug- ging and packing up, coiling the extension cord, returning the books to their owners, gently lowering the cooled-down machine into its molded case. But then there is a tug on my arm, “Can I carry that downstairs for you, miss?” Ah, the slide projector, I’ve built my reputation on it. I’m going to miss it.