I should take long walks in the woods, in the rain, more often. It’s an analgesic to the cacophony of the world war on facts and empathy.

My generation expected to have jet packs for personal transportation, flying cars, and transporters to beam us up. Still waiting. One prediction that has finally arrived, also late, is the Newspeak language from “1984.” In 1983 U.S Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan said, “Everyone is entitled to his own opinion, but not his own facts.” Well Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore.

I’m assisting an old friend and teaching colleague who is bringing a small group photo workshop to Savannah soon, and my goal is to show these folks something more than the sole focus on Savannah’s Landmark District (the old town) that most visitors get. For part of that, I have Skidaway Island State Park on our agenda, to see something of the wetlands environment that is the “Low Country.” I took a drive out there to see what kind of shape the park is in, thinking, because it was raining, to take a short walk on the trails to make sure it is a viable shooting location. I wound up walking all the way back to the river, about an hour an a half round trip.

It’s not the first time I’ve gone to the marsh for peace and quietude. Growing up, my school bus crossed a large expanse of open marsh twice a day, every day. A little later in life, I wandered along the edges of those areas, playing with the kind of graphic images you can get from the complex simplicity and infinite spectrum of colors and textures of grass, mud, and water. But what fascinates me more is the transition space between open marsh and the lowland forests next to it, a place where something is always being born, and something is always dying.

My first time in the park area was when the island was still a private landholding, accessible only by boat. After the creation of the state park (and the construction of two bridges and a causeway to provide access), I’ve dropped by off and on for years. At first there were no formal trails or infrastructure. You just roamed through the marsh and floodplain areas at will. Now boardwalks elevate you above the wetland areas, and the trails are formalized and mapped.

In 1983 I did some nude photographs of a young woman swimming in one of the creeks that flow through the area, but I had no idea that we would be such trend setters. On my latest walk I found that spot to be a designated photo station. Not kidding. Unusual, interesting idea. The sign tells you how to use the cradle to hold your smart phone and then where to upload the photos to become part of a long range series of images from that spot, to create a time-lapse portrait of how the area changes over time. Cool. Maybe I should send them some of my nudes.

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

Valentines’ Day last week reminded me of this photograph. Our room had a rose bud in a vase, rose petals scattered and shaped into a heart on the giant bed, and more scattered over the bathroom vanity and linen.

We had caught a taxi at the airport and given the address for our hotel, Les Jardins de la Medina. We arrived on a narrow street of brick pavers, defined by long, tall, plain walls abutting the pavers. The hotel entrance was as unprepossessing as the exterior wall, but going through the door was like being Mary, finding the key to the gate of “The Secret Garden.”

Entering the hotel you are immediately in a lush courtyard jungle . You’re asked to sit and relax, enjoy a cool towel, drink and refreshments, while someone checks you in, gets your luggage moved to your room, and, when you are ready, takes you on a tour of the property, ending at your room. Of course there is no ADA in Morocco, so everyone has to climb stairs, guests and staff.

I spent almost 30 years traveling for a living and I’ve spent a lot of time in hotels. A lot of time. Often as I stood in the mind-numbing sameness of another of those corridors of repeating room doors, I thought of the hallway scenes from “The Shining” or “Barton Fink” or “Naked Lunch.” I understand why a hotelier would want to maximize ROI with as many rooms to rent as possible, and those rooms as standardized as possible to simplify and control costs for housekeeping and maintenance, but it is such a pleasure to discover a property designed and built to exploit the light and climate, where every turn you take is some new, unique vignette.

To see a new gallery of photos from Les Jardins de la Medina, go to https://www.billdurrence.com/index/G0000l9OJoQjn4VM

I was assisting at a workshop many years ago and National Geographic photographer Jim Brandenburg (https://www.photoby.fr/en/8-jim-brandenburg) was speaking, suggesting a different spelling for the braggadocio bumper sticker soundbite, “No Fear!” His version, “Know Fear.” Use it.

A few years later I was one of the photography Mentors for a workshop; the trip leader had just divided the students into groups for each of us, and she said, “Bill, here is your group and here is your costumed model. Go do something interesting and teach something at the same time.” (Or something to that effect.)

One of many ways of distinguishing different kinds of photographers is between reactive and conceptual. I’m mainly reactive; I respond to what’s happening. But nothing is happening.

The model is standing there waiting for directions. The students are staring at me waiting for pearls of wisdom. Thank you Jim. Fear can be a useful motivator. Just do something, and ideas will flow from that. I need a story, a narrative. Backgrounds tell stories with the information they contribute, and I have this western gold-mining ghost town.

So she’s the school marm, leaving her home, walking the dirt street to the school house, stepping carefully, and watching for reckless riders. First composition has such contrasty light, a reflector puts light under the hat, but it feels flat, footlight-y, and her fingers look odd. Move in close, a smaller area where I can use a large diffuser to control and soften the light, much more natural feeling. Keep moving in, with a nod to Vermeer.

Walk down the dusty street to the saloon, beautiful window light bouncing off the smoothness of the worn floor. Same model, same outfit, but now she’s a dance hall girl. Move in tighter, again, for those eyes.

And then…then, there were these old railroad tracks and cars, and another actor/model in just the right outfit. So we did a quick “Snidely Whiplash and Nell.” Dudley Do-Right must have been just around the corner.

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

Why the residue of a poster stripped from a rough stone wall? In the old village of Hongcun, filming site of “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” and a UNESCO World Heritage site, from the Ming and Qing dynasties (1300s to 1900s), why is that my choice of subjects?

Part of the reason is Aaron Siskind. (https://www.wikiart.org/en/aaron-siskind) Abstract Expressionism in paintings is interesting, but Siskind’s mid-20th century abstract expressionist photographs were a revelation in seeing for me. Someone could take the paramount documentation tool, and make non-objective pictures. The objects and ideas you discover hidden in the patterns are personal; they are yours and multiply the longer you stare. Documentation can tell a great story, but abstraction lets the viewer go anywhere their imagination can take them.

After identifying a possible primary subject, that bright red slash, how did I get to this particular framing, balancing the visual weights implied by line, shape, texture, tone, color?

I don’t know. After going through infinite variations of micro-movements–in/out, left/right, up/down–one spot felt more right than any other. Of course that might have been because it was more physically comfortable, and have nothing to do with aesthetics, but I can live with that.

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