Static was there at the midnight hour, after the late night movie when the stations signed off rather than launching into hours of mind-numbing infomercials. Static was there when you turned the dial between stations – back in the days when televisions actually had dials and someone had to get off the couch to turn them. It served as a reminder that television was a handful of precious signals coming from far away to reach your home, rather than the dozens of disposable channels we flick through today. Static was something you strove to avoid, but it was always lurking in the background. Static isn't something you see on television any more, but growing up with analog television static was an integral part of the experience. With the picture ripped away from the screen I suddenly felt like I'd lost something, like a childhood reminiscence of a person or place which no longer exists and lives on only in your memory. It was at that moment I realised how integral static has always been to the experience of watching television. It was a surprisingly powerful moment when the static burst onto the screen, hitting you with a wall of white noise like days of old. Digital brought with it clearer pictures and a wealth of new channels, but it also turned television watching into a more sterile experience – something brought home by the abrupt finality of the burst of static which replaced the old HSV7 logo for the very last time. Most Australian homes have only switched across to digital in the last few years, but I think you need to be of a certain age to have an emotional attachment to analog television. From December 3 transmissions will be digital only. Off the air: John Hunter with some of his collection of analog televisions.
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