Sense of the Other and Paris du Nuit

Portraits and Nighttime Long Exposures

Nubia—

Nubia was one of my travel companions for most of this trip. She isn’t a student at the University of Denver, but accompanied us as the best friend of Kat Ferguson. Kat Ferguson was the program’s coordinator. Her presence was desired, so Kat would have a travel companion not easily ten years younger than herself. Nubia and Kat met during high school, and have kept in touch ever since. Nubia was a first generation Daniel’s Fund Scholar, and received her degrees in Engineering from the University of Miami, “UM”. Now she works for General Electric, and her company is responsible for the illumination of Tower Bridge, in London, for the 2012 Olympics.

Many may not agree with me when I say that Nubia was a breath of fresh air on this trip, but her presence made my experience abroad much more enjoyable. I’m not just saying that because she supplied me with anti-nausea medication for all those bus rides either. (This woman must have been a girl scout!) Admittedly, she can be incredibly bossy, if only for our own benefit, she only wants us to get where were going on time. One can’t turn that off if they wanted; Nubia has been doing it since she was little. She has had lots of practice with her large family of many siblings and cousins. Lastly, her interest in foreign signage can be entertaining all by itself. (That’s what engineers pay attention to.)

Leah—

First and foremost Leah is a writer, and secondly I find her to be a traveler. Everything about her reflects that path in their entirety. She loves books, and one of her favorite places in Paris is the Shakespeare and Company bookstore. Leah especially loves the rare and antique book section, and it was here that I learned of her love of Gertrude Stein. Who is “never straight forward,” according to a prancing Leah weaving between the graves of Piere-Lachaise.

Leah is also a traveler. She was the only one who used a backpack as luggage, and came across as well traveled. Leah especially has an affinity toward Turkey, where she studied abroad, and would readily spout random tidbits about Turkish culture. In London, she introduced the whole class to Turkish food.

A Sense of Place

Photos du jour...

It was a crisp sort of day today. The sky was like a glass ceiling. Just above the tree tops was where its expansiveness ended. What a claustrophobic feeling when your eyes aren’t free to wonder into infinity. This kind of sky was new to me. For such a relatively cloudless day it felt so close and concrete, characteristics not typical of a vast and wispy slice of space. Looking up I felt like a piano had fallen on me, because my fast sweeping gaze was stopped abruptly and unexpectedly by this glass ceiling. Jarring. At first it made me feel like everything was cold and impersonal, and I was an uninvited guest, but that was just the wrong side of perspective. The interruption of blue vastness was just a way to encase everything to make it closer and uniquely tangible.

There were a myriad of roads to choose from, and I was not overwhelmed by the choices. Yet, I did want to explore each and every one of them. They trailed off to nowhere and somewhere at the same time, and introduced me to spaces devoid. It was there that one could really breathe in the earthy magic spells, nestled between the leaves and buried under layers of dirt. Fairies could have easily been dance amongst the mushrooms. Adults and Children alike can feel the electricity in the air, not unlike the charge that gladiators felt right before battle. 

Once I came back from being checked out for so long simply wondering through the unpopulated spaces of the Gardens at the Palace of Versailles I encountered people with an unrivaled fantastical outlook. It seemed that I was not the only one deeply impacted by the atmosphere, even though I assume most did not explore as intimately as I had. 

All morning I was walking without purpose throughout the grand hallways of the Palace, with no interest in what I was looking at. Then I caught a glimpse out the window of a place that sparked my interest without even knowing how wonderful and never-ending it truly was. The Gardens are nearly 2000 acres of daydreams, and my only wish was that I could have seen every microcosm within the macrocosms of this place in one visit that was much too short.

I wanted this day to last just long enough. I couldn't speed my way through the Palace fast enough. It broke my heart to leave. Just one more minute, okay. Please, just one more minute. Me begging much like a child at an amusement park. There was still so much to do, and so much to see, and so much more to photograph. I was so selfish I wanted all the magic to myself. I wanted to savor the oneness with my camera.

Travel Day "A Sense of Transition"

To the rest of the photos...

Today was a very challenging day. I started with excitement and an anxiety for what lay ahead, but as I made my way into Paris I slowly lost my confidence that I could make it on my own. Armed with the mantra “I’m a strong, independent woman” didn't do anything to save me. Traveling away from home doesn't mean one can escape from all of the entangling emotions, and I found that the farther I found myself the tighter they pulled. I guess I’m a really nostalgic person, but I’m sure that statement is of no surprise to anyone who knows me.

The streets here are gloriously and hopelessly confusing. What should have been a simple trek to the hotel, turned into a hike all around the area surrounding the Eiffel Tower. No one knew where Avenue de Tourville was, and half of the people I asked pointed toward the Eiffel Tower. The one person that was confident in his directions sent me the wrong way, which ended up in nearly a two hour detour. I walked down so many wrong streets, and found so many things I would have been more interested in had I not been dragging around all of my luggage. Once I dropped my stuff off at the hotel, this will be a whole lot easier I kept telling myself. With raw hands and sore arms/shoulders I finally made it to the hotel.First thing I did was take a shower. Between the fight, unexpected hike, and the warm clothes I was wearing I had worked up quite a sweat. 

After much debate I decided to take a nap to shake my sour mood. Once refreshed I can tackle the city with a vengeance, and a much lighter load. I would still have a whole afternoon of daylight to take advantage of. When my alarm went off I had little motivation to get up considering how my trip had gone so far. So, I got up when it was already dark outside. It wasn't until my hunger got the best of me that I reluctantly went downstairs to ask the front desk attendant where I could locate an ATM. “Right on the corner,” I can do that.

Within sight of that very ATM was four or five different places to eat. I walked into one, and couldn't read the menu because it was all in French. I could only pick out a word or two. I considered just pointing but nothing compelled me to do so, even though the rotisserie chickens and pizza behind the glass looked very nice.  I walked a little farther, and found an Indian Restaurant. I walked in and was greeted in English, with a big smile and a hand shake. I found it ironic that a place usually considered foreign in the States, can be a source of comfort and familiarity in a different country. One finds solace wherever you can, right? It was just what I needed to sweeten my mood. 

On that high note I returned to my room, to adventure another day.

Out of all of my photographs, this is one of my favorites. It's magical, playful, and requires a child-like perspective. Not much in this picture is what it appears to be. This image challenges reality. The only thing concrete is the chain link fence. Everything else is shadow play: the flowers are crocheted out of yarn, and the giraffe is a tower crane. 

To date I feel this is the most representational photograph of myself. I have difficulty pinning myself down. 

Turning the camera back onto myself is something I've desperately wanted since discovering Francesca Woodman, but the results are always less then satisfying. It's like when you look in the mirror, and you don't recognize yourself. I wonder if Francesca ever had that problem. Did she ever feel like she wasn't photographing herself? 

Representational of my work?

I'm historically orientated. I prefer film to digital, and have an affinity to alternative processes. I like to think that in our inevitable soon-to-be post-apocalyptic world someone will be valued for how things were done in the not-too-distant-past. I take photographs and make handmade books. I'm also hung-up on my continuing investigation of death, dying, loss, grief, fear, regret, and most recently anger.