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Along with the 8-track, cassette tapes, vinyl records and so many other things, the Polaroid instant photo as we know it may soon become a thing of the past. The company announced in February that it will stop producing its once-popular instant cameras and accompanying film by the end of 2008.

Chicago artists and photographers are responding to this change, as evidenced by "Death + Extinction: A Polaroid Exhibition" at the Chicago Art Department, in Pilsen. The "death" of the Polaroid prompted artists, six from Chicago and six from New York, to create works centered on mortality, memory and nostalgia, and works that celebrate the Polaroids' unusual, antique look.

"There's some charm in the quality that you get [with Polaroids] -- I kind of prefer that to newer looking things," said K.S. Rives, curator of the show. Her ongoing documentary photography project, "Before I Die I Want To," a collaboration with illustrator Nicole Kenney, also appears in the show.

The project consists of Polaroids that Rives and Kenney took of people in public places talking about what they want to do before they die. Each person then records his or her goal on the bottom of the Polaroid. The artists collect all subjects' contact information in order to follow up with them in five to 10 years to see if they're advancing toward their goal. Appearing in the show are 250 out of the 300 photos the duo has taken so far, and all the photos appear on the project's Web site.

For Rives, the project is about pondering mortality from the perspective of life, and "not waiting until you're dying to do something with your life," she said. Common goals are travel, especially to Japan, writing a novel, and for women, having children. The concept works well in Polaroids.

"Maybe this is what Polaroid wants to do before it dies -- make art," said Rives.

A Polaroid camera sits beside the piece so Rives can take pictures of people who visit the gallery and want to be part of the project. Rives and Kenney are also selling a self-published book of the photos, and they are currently seeking grants to take the project abroad, especially to Third World countries. "It's apparent whenever you're reading our answers that we're a First World country," Rives said. "In other countries, people might say things like, 'I want my kids to get jobs,' or 'I want water.'"

Before digital photography arrived in the '90s, photographers used Polaroids to check their light, and the show, which runs until September 1, showcases many types of Polaroid film. "Polaroid Epitaphs: An Anthology in 24 Parts" is a collection of old Polaroids of all shapes and sizes found at yard sales. Chicago architect and photographer Anthony Vizzari, who owns a photo booth rental company, wrote poems to accompany each photograph, and all of the writing has to do with death. Other Chicago artists represented in the show are Ariel Sundel, Mike Nourse, Amber Meairs and Gina Mauro.

While Rives is passionate about Polaroids, even she admits that the shift to digital has many benefits: It's better for the environment, and it's cheaper. The Polaroids she's been shooting cost $2 per shot because of the scarcity of the film, which she buys on Ebay. In the past, Polaroids cost roughly $1.50 per shot. Digital photography can also be healthier for photographers, who no longer have to breathe in toxic chemicals in darkrooms in order to produce a print.

Some Chicago photographers -- mostly fine art photographers -- will miss Polaroids and their signature, limpid color palette, while other photographers couldn't care less. In terms of raw production, the end of Polaroid is totally irrelevant for the other three out of four categories of photographers: amateurs, photojournalists and commercial photographers, said Steve Liss, former 28-year Time Inc. photographer living in Chicago.

"Polaroid has a certain charm, a certain look, a certain aesthetic that's hard to reproduce. And when you do reproduce it on a computer, it's not as satisfying," said Liss,. "Digital photography will never have that kind of charm. You're trading [charm for] speed and convenience."

On the other hand, Liss said, there's something beautiful about Polaroid coming to an end, because the change preserves and honors the art already existing in the medium, such as the Polaroid portraits created by photographer Marie Cosindas in the 1970s.

For freelance documentary photographer Jon Lowenstein, who is currently working on a project about industrial urban decay and rebirth on Chicago's South Side, Polaroid can be a means of breaking the ice and creating a comfortable, reciprocal relationship with his subjects. He said Polaroid helps him interact because he can give his subjects the positive image and keep the negative. "Rather than just taking something, I'm giving something," Lowenstein said.

Digital, on the other hand, can be a barrier for Lowenstein. He said the reactions he gets from people on the South Side are visibly different when he carries a Polaroid as opposed to a digital camera. Polaroid is something people are used to, and it reflects the place because, "It's kinda scruffy," he said. Digital cameras can be intimidating and impersonal, and subjects can feel like they're being surveyed, according to Lowenstein.

Although many photographers are throwing funerals for the dead Polaroid, the film's future is still uncertain. The company has said it is willing to license the technology to other companies should they want to manufacture the film. Speculation has it that Fuji, which produces a similar instant film in brighter colors, may start producing Polaroid instant film. And Lowenstein, like many other photographers, hasn't given up hope: "I believe someone will … manufacture that film."