I sometimes have a Robinson Crusoe fantasy, for the solitude, not the hardships. I did say it was a fantasy. On many occasions I have claimed that, except for Barbara being in my life, I would be fine as a hermit, living in a cave. Of course there has to be a fast internet connection. And the truth is, I’d probably be bored stiff within a few days.

This photograph is a variation on tropical tourism cliches, with the compositional tactic of the C curve of the shoreline, sinuously, continuously looping the viewers’ eye, seducing the weekday, workday, everyday drudgery, suggesting that here would be a so much better place to be–calm, peaceful, quiet, alone. Of course the economics and logistics of getting to a place like this almost certainly means you will not be alone.

Reading some science fiction on a recent trip, a phrase jumped out at me, “…arranged to suggest geometries of endless longing.” (“Count Zero” by William Gibson) Sounds like the goal of advertising photography.

During the raging hormones’ stage of my adolescence I saw a movie, “Bird of Paradise” with Louis Jordan and Debra Paget. A young Frenchman goes home with a college friend, to the South Pacific, meets, falls in love with, and marries his friend’s sister, also the Chief’s daughter, the lovely Kalua. SPOILER ALERT! It does not end well. She is barren, and the island volcano is acting up, so she has to self-sacrifice by jumping into the volcano, to save her people.

And then there was the tragedy of the paradise Bali Hai, and beautiful Liat, daughter of Bloody Mary, in “South Pacific.” Apparently 1950’s Hollywood had, hypocritically I suspect, a problem with interracial affairs. Like the song said, “You have to be taught.”

Leaving all rationality aside, those films set the scene for another fantasy, coming down a white sandy beach, alone, toward me, a beautiful skinny girl with artificially darkened skin pretending to be Polynesian.

How dull might life be without imagination?

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

There is a special place in my heart for photographers, even the assholes (and yes, I know sometimes I’m one of them).

The serious ones remind me of lyrics from a Willie Nelson song, “My heroes have always been cowboys, and they still are it seems. Always in search of, and one step in back of, themselves and their slow-moving dreams.” They spend too much on equipment to be sure they have the best gear, and suffer the weight of carrying it to difficult places. They then spend more to get to some long lusted for location, in the simple hope of catching one brief moment, special in its subtle difference from the moments just before and after.

They get up in the middle of the night and drive long distances in the dark, breakfasting on bad gas station coffee and Oreos, then stumble through rough terrain, just to be in the right spot for the magic hour of civil twilight before sunrise, and/or stay long past sunset for the soft, beautiful light of alpenglow, even when temperatures are freezing or blistering.

They hustle access to events to record athletes’ and performers’ efforts to put everything they have into being the best they can be, or risk life and limb to document human conflict. And most do it with no expectation of profit, just gratified when someone takes more than a cursory glance at the photographs they try to share. “Look what I saw. Isn’t it beautiful/thrilling/magic/tragic?”

They fabricate unique tools for a specialized picture and buy products made to protect their gear from hostile environments. They jump into zodiacs when they can’t swim, hang out of helicopters when they can’t fly. They are sometimes fearless, sometimes reckless, sometimes stupid, and sometimes it’s hard to know the difference.

No matter how gregarious they may be otherwise, seeking, seeing, and making the photograph is an internal journey, a solitary recusal from all other engagement, whether briefly or habitually. If they ever are fortunate to have a satori experience, where the light/location/subject/cosmos all collide perfectly with pressing the shutter button, they will forever seek to repeat it, slowly learning how elusive it can be.

I have been so lucky to have worked with and learned from so many of these mentors, colleagues, and students. “Your heroes will help you find good in yourself….” Randy Travis, “Heroes and Friends.”

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index.

“The perception of beauty is a moral test.” Thoreau

There is an “old” joke in my history-obsessed hometown. How many Savannahians does it take to change a burned out light bulb? Four. One to replace the bulb and three to form a committee to talk about how nice the old one was. These piers are already replaced, and I’m a committee of only one, but allow me to make a case for remembrance.

This is the northeast corner of Savannah’s Historic Landmark District (essentially the early city), and the rotting pilings are long gone and there is a bright, shiny new public river-walk along this shore, almost all the way to the industry in the background. The grassy area to the right, Eastern Wharf, is now an ongoing development of condos, apartments, high end hotel, retail, service businesses, and two large parking garages, partly planned to help siphon off some of the traffic going into downtown. It’s a well done development, and safer, and much more useful than the empty space that was there for so long, but … it reminds me….

The first time I saw Times Square was in the fall of 1967, on a weekend pass from Fort Monmouth, NJ. It was pretty seedy, with lots of adult theaters, and prostitutes easily available (so I was told), with hotels where the USO could get cheap rooms for soldiers. These days, anytime I’m in Manhattan I try to go to Times Square and walk up the red steps, and it’s all bright and shiny, and family friendly, but it’s not as interesting. It all seems predictable, commercialized, sanitized.

There is a sub-genre of photography sometimes deprecatingly called “Ruin Porn” and I confess some attraction to the subject matter. All the stuff that was once bright and shiny eventually shows the vicissitudes of time and fortune, and that is a lot more interesting visual story.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index

In last week’s post I mentioned actors who dress up and busk in public places for tips. Barbara found one outside the Louvre and tried and tried to get some kind of reaction from him to no avail. As soon as she dropped some cash in the bucket, she got the reciprocal bow from “Tut.”

Also in last week’s post I suggested small movements to manage distractions in the background, a lesson I clearly forgot here where the suggested continuity of the street traffic posts and the street lamp has Barbara’s head in a vice grip. Oops.

For more of Bill’s photographs, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index