I love an assortment of geometric shapes and forms, diagonal and curved lines, color and texture. I’ve shot tens of thousands of “compositions” experimenting with the balancing of those elements, not aware for a long time that I was simply doing exercises, like a painter making preliminary sketches.
And then one day, maybe walking through an old village, you see a pattern, like an old friend, but this time it’s different. Something breaks the pattern.
We knew which table was ours in the large outdoor restaurant space. It was the one with the wine bottle with my name painted on it. We’ve only been in Ljubljana a few hours and they already know us.
We had checked into our hotel that afternoon in the old part of Ljubljana, and asked for a restaurant recommendation. Our hostess said she would make us a reservation, and then directed us to the place, only a couple of blocks away. The personalized “reservation” sign was a nice touch, and the food and service were good.
When Barbara and I started planning our most recent trip we had two things we wanted to do: something physical, outside–that was a bike ride from Passau to Vienna, (“The Bike Path” at https://www.billdurrence.com/index/G0000sHhi4SN4JMw); and to spend a few days traveling like we first did almost 40 years ago, with no reservations or timelines to follow, just see where the road led us.
So after the bike ride we rented a car and drove out of Vienna, telling the GPS to take us across Austria in the direction of Ljubljana, Slovenia, but no highways. Weaving narrow roads in and out, up and down, we just randomly stopped in Gaming. Asked at the Hotel Berghof if a room was available and it was. The next morning, after an included breakfast, with enough food for at least four people, we realized we had not asked, “How much?” at any point. When we did, it was very reasonable, and the hostess had been so nice, but then they did not take plastic, and we did not have enough cash.
Not a problem. “There’s an ATM in the grocery store at the bottom of the hill.” So the nice little old lady held Barbara hostage while I went and easily acquired her ransom. Couldn’t do that 40 years ago.
I was leading a workshop in Mexico several years ago and started the program with some photographs I had made earlier, street scenes of local people framed against the colorful buildings. A day or so later I had a student disappointed because she was not fast enough to catch any street portraits like I had shown. Neither am I most of the time, as I explained to her. Set a trap.
In working on the street, I find a background I like, frame it carefully with lens choice and camera position, shoot a few tests shots to analyze exposure and composition, “pin” the corners of the desired framing for quick checks during shooting, and then wait for a subject to move through my frame, looking for the just right moment, gesture, shape/tone/color juxtaposition, placement against the ground.
Except, not this time. I saw the background and the guy in black moving across all at once. It was an autonomic response, raising the camera, framing, and shooting too fast for conscious thought. Catch your breath, click. I waited around for another 10 minutes or so trying different people walking by, but nothing ever looked as good as the guy in black. I’m pleased to say, also, that this is the exact framing of the quick shot, no cropping or straightening.
Vienna was the end point of our bicycle ride from Passau, and we spent a few days hanging out in the old part of town, inside the Ringstrasse. It is an interesting mix of classical and whimsical. Take a look at my new gallery, Vienna Snapshots, 2023, at https://www.billdurrence.com/index/G0000DNj64yyYoFg
We had an inauspicious beginning for our Passau to Vienna bike ride. When we picked up our e-bikes to start the trip, Barbara had a tumble right outside the bicycle shop. Bruised, and a little bloody, but OK, she went back inside and bought the only helmet they had, a used one.
The bicycle vendor emphasized how important it was to NOT lose the key. We rode the first leg of our trip, checked into our hotel and I discovered I lost my key somewhere along the way. No key, can’t take the battery off the e-bike and charge it. So I called the shop and they agreed to bring me another bike the next morning, and pick up the key-less one, for free.
As we checked in, the desk clerk mentioned a large wedding in the hotel that evening (Saturday). It started at 5 and was a huge group. The live band played pretty good covers of a lot of pop and rock and roll…..until 2AM…..right above our room.
The next morning we faced one of our longest rides with a late start, not getting the bike swap until noon. When we walked out to meet the truck, it started raining. With 62 kilometers to go, the first leg was blessedly downhill, about 8 kilometers distance, with a vertical drop of 300 meters. (Going down was a lot easier than going up the day before.)
The new bike only had about a half charge so my range was just barely enough to make the next location, and that by conserving power. (Read-unassisted pedaling.)
But the best part of travel is often the unplanned and unexpected. We had a beautiful ride along the Danube; rainy off and on, but cool, not hot. About halfway we stopped for some lunch, and there was a free e-bike charging station next to the restaurant, along the bike path seen here, letting me add some charge to my battery while consuming good Bavarian beer. We even discovered a trash can there that sings “Hallelujah” when you put trash in it.
I start any new adventure with some excitement, some trepidation, some apprehension, but that’s what makes it an adventure–the unknown. What surprises, pleasant and otherwise, await? Am I up to this, whatever “this” is? I don’t mean to overstate; I avoid risky behavior (mostly). It’s more concern about how I manage the differences I encounter, and how long I can avoid being a jerk about something, something often ultimately unimportant.
Barbara and I wanted to do a trip with some physically active components, and signed up for a self-guided multi-day bicycle ride from Passau to Vienna. In the above photo we were just leaving Passau at the beginning of our trip, and my apprehension was about how little riding we do at home and could we handle this distance–a question about both endurance and our buns’ ability to sit on a bike seat all day for several days. It’s awkward, at a minimum, to get in the middle of something and have to bail. Turned out to be easy, especially with E-bikes, and a great navigation program, furnished by the travel company.
Another concern was that I had stopped almost immediately at the beginning to make photographs of something interesting. There was something interesting, of course, the whole way, cycling on great bike paths, well-marked, along the Danube, and through fields and farmland, and picturesque villages and towns. It was all so pretty; our daily distance was short enough to amble along and enjoy the ride, but it was necessary for me to exert much discipline in not stopping every five minutes to shoot. We would never have made it to the next hotel before dark.
Robert Capa supposedly said, “If your pictures aren’t strong enough, you’re not close enough.” While the phrase might have reached cliche status through repetition, it is still no less true. Most photographs suffer from too much information. (I know you were anxious to have my opinion on that.)
Plein air painting and street photography have some things in common–leaving the comfort and control of a studio, and focusing on ordinary, pedestrian subjects, but there is one fundamental, foundational difference, and I’m making no argument for either being superior, just different. Painting is additive. One starts with blank paper or canvas or …, and adds elements to build the composition.
Photography is subtractive. One starts with a given scene or situation and has to find ways to eliminate everything non-essential in that scene. A big first step (pardon the pun) is to get closer.
We left our bush camp pre-dawn for an early morning game drive. As the black sky became orange, we could see where the sun would break the horizon. There was this Acacia tree just standing there doing nothing. Sometimes a photograph is a gift from the universe.
Of course, you have to be there when it happens, and you have to see it in time to catch it, but other than that, nothing to it.
Borneo is the third largest island in the world. Politically it consists of portions of Malaysia and Indonesia, and all of Brunei. It is also one of the only two places in the world to find orangutans in the wild.
Mark Twain said, “Travel is fatal to prejudice.” I’m more inclined to think it is “detrimental” rather than such an absolutist position as “fatal,” but I do think it offers perspective, if you seek it.
There are many and varied reasons for traveling. An important one for me is the expectation that I will see something that I am unlikely to see at home.
This is a view from my front porch. It doesn’t always look like this, of course. You would need rain, and oak re-leafing season when the leaves on the ground are so thick you could ski if they were snow flakes. And it’s been a while since the City planted this luscious tulip array. I’m sure that is at least partly a budget issue. Having gone through four City budget workshops, I’m well aware of the difficulty trying to fund everything, and that priorities must be set.
This also is my favorite time of day in downtown Savannah. In the mid 60’s, as a staff photographer for the Savannah Morning News/Evening Press, I noticed that starting around 5 PM and lasting until about 7 PM, downtown acquired a quiet stillness, as if the City had collectively taken a breath, and then held it. Back then that was largely due to the end of the work day and everyone emptying out of downtown, and then, exhaling, the City began evening social and civic activities after supper.
It’s been a while since we were that small town, and downtown doesn’t empty out anymore; quite the opposite. But I still feel that pause in the late afternoon, sitting in the square with the dog, and maybe a neighbor or two. And more times than not there is pretty or interesting light filtering through the trees and defining the old homes, and it feels like I have fallen into a fairy tale.
