the diary-primary resource or fodder for fiction?

have been reading a lot of biographies lately for work. was discussing with a group how primary resources are used as tools to piece together a portrait of the subject who can no longer speak for themselves.

as i spoke about the utility of photographs, letters, emails, artistic creations and interviews with people who knew them i made the natural leap of wondering what my artifacts would say about me.

cyberspace cookies would reveal my browsing habits, my daily compulsions, the varied scope of topics i delve into daily. pictures i have taken would perhaps convey an aesthetic taste but it's my friend's bridal shower pics and halloween party masked debauchery that would skew the profile. my artistic endeavours are similarly untrustworthy to speak for me themselves. recordings i have made out of a desire to concretize a favourite piece don't stand as representatives of how i'd love my voice to sound.

took a course at ryerson a few years ago about the diary. argued for many sessions about its validity as a tool for understanding someone. my prof rolled her eyes at the notion of their usefulness, saying that even in private we invent;here perhaps most of all! was a great experience. loved reading people's attempts to capture their thoughts artfully. i could see the bias, see the plumes of the quill shake with fervour as a literary sensibility took hold and the mundane was transformed into the sublime. i get it because i've done it. i love to go back to a moment, to evoke it sensorially and polish it into something lasting.

this whole notion of editing the artifacts of our lives is interesting. how many of us delete unflattering photos,take people off of our contact lists, write responses to emails or engage in conversation using platitudes or quasi-template form?

haven't decided yet if it's just a filter thing where you can only hold so much so you manage by speaking a script, cutting off excess relationship baggage, don't want to waste space in memory or if we are all secretly manufacturing an ideal self as we go. i waffle depending on mood.

so after all of that i wonder if we can really be trusted to speak for ourselves about ourselves. and if not us then who, or what?