If you randomly wander the streets in alien places, as I am wont to do, you will encounter things you do not understand. Discovery is the point, and pleasure, of travel.
We were at an annual oyster roast for a group of long-term friends last Saturday evening. The oysters were singles, big and juicy, steamed perfectly, and I ate more than my fill. The top photograph is from that evening, and this is the group I mean. (With busy schedules, there’s always one or two missing from various group photos over the years.)
Over 40 years ago, this group of young, professional, smart, good-looking women, from a variety of careers, came together somehow, and stuck. They eventually made room for a few men, and some children. The bottom photograph is one daughter’s wedding, a young woman “blessed” with so many surrogate moms, plus her own, standing on the left, in black.
They’ve been through so much together, always with laughter.
Repetition and symmetry can be strong compositional tools, up to the point where they become predictable. Once a pattern has been established there needs to be an interruption, a hiccup, to keep it interesting.
The Frame is also a primary tool, the edge of what the photographer allows the viewer to know about the scene, selected from an infinite number of choices. Within any scene there may be numerous, visually interesting points of view, some similar, some dramatically different. For example, the sidewalk, curb, gutter, and reflections of the trees here, on a different day, were the subject of last week’s post.
People who know me know I like to travel, and, often, off the beaten path. To paraphrase Hank Williams, Jr., “I like to see places I’ve never seen.” But that didn’t start until I was around 40. Before that, growing up in Savannah, when we took a family vacation it was to visit other family in Florida. When I left home for the Army, I only got as far as Washington, DC. For college on the GI Bill, I went to UGA in Athens, where this photo was made, at the start of what might be the most consequential trip I’ve ever made.
The dude on the left with the “antlers” is yours truly, known then and now to the others here as bd. Continuing L-R are Lynn, Bob, Nancy, Miriam, and TR. On the Thursday before Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) Nancy, Miriam, and I had walked to lunch at a small place in downtown Athens, and there was a guy with a backpack sitting near us telling someone he was on his way to New Orleans for Mardi Gras.
We looked at each other and said why not? We went back to the Red & Black office (daily student newspaper) and asked if anyone else wanted to go; got three more. I had a little Triumph two seater, and Miriam had a car that she knew wouldn’t make it. So a friend, Rick (a saint), who wanted to go but couldn’t, offered up his Firebird convertible.
Six of us piled in on Friday morning intending to drive straight through, but had car trouble soon after starting. Made the repair and kept going. Six in a convertible with bucket seats in the front, all of us poor and tight on cash. We carried a cooler with a big jar of peanut butter to eat and save money. We strapped a tent on the luggage rack so we could sleep under an overpass if moved to do so. At one point we put the car top down and managed to jam the mechanism with the (now broken) jar of peanut butter.
Driving into NOLA Friday evening I had an accident, turning left into an oncoming car that crushed Rick’s driver side door, requiring all in/out for the car through the passenger door for the rest of the trip. Because I had an out of state license the police had to arrest me and take me to the jail, so I rode around in the back of a squad car on the Friday night of what may be their wildest weekend annually. Then they took me into the jail through the holding area. You can imagine the weirdness of that show.
By then my friends had made it to the station and once I paid a $10 bond I was free to go. We were so tired, Miriam had a Shell card that could be used at Howard Johnson’s. We got a room and encouraged the desk clerk to look the other way while we all piled in with sleeping bags.
The next day we hit the Quarter, watching lots of parades, fighting in the gutter with ten year olds for cheap plastic beads, and then later in the evening, dancing and drinking until early Sunday morning, at which point our designated driver Nancy loaded us up and headed home.
We got back in time for the Sunday night staff meeting for The Red & Black, and were totally obnoxious about our impromptu adventure. For me, personally, something changed, an internal dam started breaking, and like Jimmy Buffett said in “Migration”-‘…figured it’s time to have a little fun.’
“Now he walks in quiet solitude, the forests and the streams Seeking grace in every step he takes His sight has turned inside himself to try and understand The serenity of a clear blue mountain lake” “Rocky Mountain High” John Denver
Sunday I was sitting in my deck garden, enjoying it for a few more minutes before having to wrap it in plastic for our first hard freeze. This is an annual event for me because I have too many tropical plants, courtesy of my mother who was from south Florida. She managed to keep a lot of plants she was used to from home through the Savannah winters, and I can’t bring myself to let these few left go. So I stand on ladders on a second floor deck to create a shelter for them. For safety’s sake Barbara now stands there and holds onto my waistband, which probably means if I start to go over the railing, we’ll both go. I try to avoid making her want to push me.
But I digress. I was sitting there, listening to some music, and this verse from “Rocky Mountain High” caught my attention. It reminded me of making this photograph.
After reading the headlines this morning, if this had been 2500 miles closer, I would have been in the car.
It’s easy to think of old Savannah as a 19th century city, architecturally, but there are some very modern structures scattered throughout downtown. The first time I noticed this window on the left, I wondered about the v-shaped notch below it, but, and this is pure speculation, it’s a reflector to bounce light into a perpetually shaded portion of that window. I just love clever solutions.
In making the photograph, I was concentrating on arranging shapes, patterns, colors into a balanced tension. Looking at the picture, I see a couple of neighbors having a conversation over the back fence.
The first time I saw this I thought, “What? Are strangers just opening this door and walking in? Wouldn’t locking the door solve the problem?”
I assume the resident would not have gone to the trouble to install this sign if there were no problem, so who are these people? Is it misguided tourists thinking Savannah is like Williamsburg, static displays to wander in and out? Many of these cottages have been converted to professional offices for attorneys or accountants; maybe the intruder thinks they are taking a meeting.
Some micro neighborhoods in downtown Savannah are like mine, with close knit neighbors, where we share keys for emergencies. Maybe there’s that one nosy neighbor with boundary issues, or a mother-in-law.
One of the things that makes the Landmark Historic District of Savannah interesting is the eclectic mix of residential architecture, from cottages like this, having some difficulty with right angles, to large, elaborate mansions.
In last week’s post I mentioned accumulating a series of photographic vignettes from my mid day walks with the dog. I think of many of my photographs as short stories, so these might be more like blurbs–just a blip of information. What draws my attention first is some aspect of the quality of light and how it describes the subject/scene. The subject might be color, pattern, or a hint of a story you fill in with imagination.
The thing is, whatever artistic intent or motivation, and regardless of how well that might be accomplished through careful seeing and composing, the pictures also maintain a documentary character, recording a particular moment in an ever evolving landscape.