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Posted: 2008-08-25 11:35:00
Typically, we allow ambiguous sentences in our guidebook to dictate our journeys. This particular afternoon we found words to the effect of: "this sma [more...]ll country lake becomes aglow with lanterns that appear to float in air." We were sold. Instinctively, we knew it would be beautiful. Logically, we knew finding it wouldnât be as easy. The train out of Kyotoâs city center was packed tight during the busy Obon, a festive tribute to Japan's ancestors. As we disembarked at the last stop, the crowds rapidly dispersed and soon we were wandering through neighborhood streets alone. Many âDoko desu kaâs?â (where is it) and rice fields later, I was ready to give up, but a mirage of blue in the distance gave hope. Waving farewell to our scarecrow companions we trekked on. When we arrived, the scene was chaotic. People hurrying with crates piled atop with paper bags, distant chanting, and families scurrying to claim spots at the lakes edge. Overwhelmed and excited with the desire to capture each moment, I reached for my camera. My Nikon fell from my hands. I heard the shutterâs final âclickâ as it violently hit the asphalt. The Nikon had just joined the spirit realm it would have been documenting. A blessing in disguise. Without my expensive camera, I instead quietly watched the sky slowly change its hues of blue to black, and the wind guide colorful lanterns on the lake. At 8:10 the distant mountainside was lit with torches to create the Kanji symbol for gate. The canvas painted before me was magical. Experiencing Japanâs annual Obon on this countryside lake was not ambiguous at all. The images captured in my mind that evening created an impression more profound than any photograph. --Alicia
Typically, we allow ambiguous sentences in our guidebook to dictate our journeys. This particular afternoon we found words to the effect of: "this small country lake becomes aglow with lanterns that appear to float in air." We were sold. Instinctively, we knew it would be beautiful. Logically, we knew finding it wouldnât be as easy. The train out of Kyotoâs city center was packed tight during the busy Obon, a festive tribute to Japan's ancestors. As we disembarked at the last stop, the crowds rapidly dispersed and soon we were wandering through neighborhood streets alone. Many âDoko desu kaâs?â (where is it) and rice fields later, I was ready to give up, but a mirage of blue in the distance gave hope. Waving farewell to our scarecrow companions we trekked on. When we arrived, the scene was chaotic. People hurrying with crates piled atop with paper bags, distant chanting, and families scurrying to claim spots at the lakes edge. Overwhelmed and excited with the desire to capture each moment, I reached for my camera. My Nikon fell from my hands. I heard the shutterâs final âclickâ as it violently hit the asphalt. The Nikon had just joined the spirit realm it would have been documenting. A blessing in disguise. Without my expensive camera, I instead quietly watched the sky slowly change its hues of blue to black, and the wind guide colorful lanterns on the lake. At 8:10 the distant mountainside was lit with torches to create the Kanji symbol for gate. The canvas painted before me was magical. Experiencing Japanâs annual Obon on this countryside lake was not ambiguous at all. The images captured in my mind that evening created an impression more profound than any photograph. --Alicia
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Posted: 2008-07-02 12:04:00
Light in Gdansk rises on the horizon at 3am in summertime. Only a few hours earlier had I laid my head down for rest at a Polish hotel. Now I was str [more...]uggling to pull my socks over my feet. I complain internally. If I've seen one middle-century-european fresco I've seen them all, dangnabit, "Unngh," is about the most verbally articulate I can be at this hour. By 4am Alicia and I are walking north to the old quarter of the city. I know before I arrive that it's a wonderful sight: medieval towers stand tall against the shore of the MotÅawa river, re-constructions of beautiful buildings from the time of the Hanseatic League, a modern riot of 13th century architecture. Yet, as we continue forward under fading starlight, all I want is the hard starchy pillow back at the hotel room. I'm reassured once again that the a.m. is going to be the ideal time to experience the familiar DÅugi Targ and "Royal Road." My grumpy skepticism is not interested. But then... The sun began to appear, warming the cool pockets of shadows with long soft light. For the next hour we share the fresh illumination in Gdansk's old town with the ancient walls of the Golden Gate, the processional paths of historical European kings, and relative silence. The past competes with the new millennium for these moments. It is victorious. Gradually, the town wakes. A half-dozen bicyclists or so glide through our shots, an alarm clock placed in an open window goes ignored, and matrons shuffle to market, plastic bags in hand. Still, in that time between starlight and bright morning, the diffused visuals and quiet corners of legacy returned for us. --Matt
Light in Gdansk rises on the horizon at 3am in summertime. Only a few hours earlier had I laid my head down for rest at a Polish hotel. Now I was struggling to pull my socks over my feet. I complain internally. If I've seen one middle-century-european fresco I've seen them all, dangnabit, "Unngh," is about the most verbally articulate I can be at this hour. By 4am Alicia and I are walking north to the old quarter of the city. I know before I arrive that it's a wonderful sight: medieval towers stand tall against the shore of the MotÅawa river, re-constructions of beautiful buildings from the time of the Hanseatic League, a modern riot of 13th century architecture. Yet, as we continue forward under fading starlight, all I want is the hard starchy pillow back at the hotel room. I'm reassured once again that the a.m. is going to be the ideal time to experience the familiar DÅugi Targ and "Royal Road." My grumpy skepticism is not interested. But then... The sun began to appear, warming the cool pockets of shadows with long soft light. For the next hour we share the fresh illumination in Gdansk's old town with the ancient walls of the Golden Gate, the processional paths of historical European kings, and relative silence. The past competes with the new millennium for these moments. It is victorious. Gradually, the town wakes. A half-dozen bicyclists or so glide through our shots, an alarm clock placed in an open window goes ignored, and matrons shuffle to market, plastic bags in hand. Still, in that time between starlight and bright morning, the diffused visuals and quiet corners of legacy returned for us. --Matt
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Posted: 2008-06-06 12:05:00
Everything we read told us not to go alone. They told us not to go at night. Brochures admonished to always enter with a group of people (safety in nu [more...]mbers). Don't wander astray! Curious warnings indeed for St Louis Cemetery No. 1 in New Orleans. Heeding the cautions we took off anyway. I have to admit that when we first walked in - alone, wandering astray - I was more than a little nervous and honestly somewhat creeped out. The narrow alleyways, tilted tombstones, long shadows and muddied pathways knotted my imagination. Slowly, gradually, the grounds and mausoleums shifted away from sinister. I became a little more comfortable with the surroundings, I released my grip on Matt, looked more into my viewfinder and less over my shoulder. For me, cemeteries have always piqued an interest and created comfort. They are celebrations of lives and places of histories. So as the winds parted the clouds and revealed blue skies, the titled white marble tombstones looked more like well-worn jewels. The narrow alleyways became a maze of discovery. The shadows gave contrast to my photos. The muddied paths created the perfect texture for old and new shoe prints. So heed the warnings, but don't ever get creeped out. -Alicia
Everything we read told us not to go alone. They told us not to go at night. Brochures admonished to always enter with a group of people (safety in numbers). Don't wander astray! Curious warnings indeed for St Louis Cemetery No. 1 in New Orleans. Heeding the cautions we took off anyway. I have to admit that when we first walked in - alone, wandering astray - I was more than a little nervous and honestly somewhat creeped out. The narrow alleyways, tilted tombstones, long shadows and muddied pathways knotted my imagination. Slowly, gradually, the grounds and mausoleums shifted away from sinister. I became a little more comfortable with the surroundings, I released my grip on Matt, looked more into my viewfinder and less over my shoulder. For me, cemeteries have always piqued an interest and created comfort. They are celebrations of lives and places of histories. So as the winds parted the clouds and revealed blue skies, the titled white marble tombstones looked more like well-worn jewels. The narrow alleyways became a maze of discovery. The shadows gave contrast to my photos. The muddied paths created the perfect texture for old and new shoe prints. So heed the warnings, but don't ever get creeped out. -Alicia
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Posted: 2008-04-05 22:58:00
Pink petals of velvet snow shrouded the April morning. I witnessed the wind carry soft pastel folds across the skies... and as they covered the groun [more...]d in a light blanket of pink. Sakura snow. This season of warm color continued to romance me in a torrid yet all-too-brief liaison. The petal pathways on the ground were leading to the end, but the dawning of my new love affair was still a fresh recollection. My first Cherry Blossom season started when I overheard some ladies telling each other they had spotted an opening bud on a tree near National Hospital, their voices full of temporal excitement. Eager to see for myself I grabbed a camera and headed out. Discovering the location, my courtship began. I photographed every stage of the trees transformation, from tiny florets to full blossoms and finally green leaves. But the most memorable time was towards the end of the engagement as the flowers began to drop and envelop the ground, creating a sensual cloak of snowflake blossoms. Some consider it sad to see such a relationship end, but impermanence infatuates me. And two weeks after arrival, this new suitor was gone. My Sakura had moved northward, charming anew. Vanished, but leaving my restive ardor behind, anticipating the next embrace. -Alicia
Pink petals of velvet snow shrouded the April morning. I witnessed the wind carry soft pastel folds across the skies... and as they covered the ground in a light blanket of pink. Sakura snow. This season of warm color continued to romance me in a torrid yet all-too-brief liaison. The petal pathways on the ground were leading to the end, but the dawning of my new love affair was still a fresh recollection. My first Cherry Blossom season started when I overheard some ladies telling each other they had spotted an opening bud on a tree near National Hospital, their voices full of temporal excitement. Eager to see for myself I grabbed a camera and headed out. Discovering the location, my courtship began. I photographed every stage of the trees transformation, from tiny florets to full blossoms and finally green leaves. But the most memorable time was towards the end of the engagement as the flowers began to drop and envelop the ground, creating a sensual cloak of snowflake blossoms. Some consider it sad to see such a relationship end, but impermanence infatuates me. And two weeks after arrival, this new suitor was gone. My Sakura had moved northward, charming anew. Vanished, but leaving my restive ardor behind, anticipating the next embrace. -Alicia
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