Deep blue blast furnace. A distraction as the RAV points south to the grounds. Head and lungs congested, still, but the thrum of heartbeat knowing I will be left alone, even if for a moment. Left alone to look. It seems silly that something so simple can mean so much, but it does. Just a chance. A door cracks and a shaft of light illuminates. What’s there? What’s just beyond? This is just for me. Not for praise or profit. Not for attention or data driven gain.
The voice behind gives orders but I selfishly ignore and begin the hunt. Hot light, hard shadow and and ant like filing of humans waiting to partake. Funnel cakes, fry bread, chips, fries and oily pizza. “Did you eat that entire thing?” I ask a stranger hobbling on a bad hip. “No, I gave up,” he answered. “But for fifteen dollars I had to give it my best.” I tuck into the shade of a locked up golf cart. Just watching and waiting. This is photo fitness. Practice. Nothing more unless the unexpected happens. I’ve been here before. I’ve seen this before, but that’s on me.
A flick of the selector switch and I land on color. A new experience, but again, just for play. This is single-A baseball. The majors are so far off I can’t even see the stadium. But you gotta start somewhere. It feels different to look and see the spectrum. I spin circles looking for light. Backlit mostly, but the occasional front lit snap does transpire.
There is just enough to, once again, make me wonder. What if? And if this is just a waste of time. Most likely, but damn if the thought of it doesn’t creep up and into the darkest recesses of my mind. Silly boy. Bad picture after bad picture. Dancing in and out of responsibility. Passes here and there. Access, not access. Time to trade. Sun setting, light getting good finally, but I discover a conversation with a family. Forty minutes burned at optimal time. But it feels right. And I learn something. I collect emails to send photographs.
“Would you come here on your own to see this?” she asks. “No,” I reply. “Never.” I practice handholding long exposures for no reason. I know I can but two becomes three becomes five becomes thirty. Long past the limit. The United Nations of events. Native American, Latino, hordes of gringos and everything and everyone else. Metal checked, on best behavior. Everyone is here. State, local, sheriff, national guard, SWAT, probably more hidden in plain sight. Keep the peace, there is something happening here.
Comments 12
Well done on the long exposures! And yeah, I see that small print. Some of us will. Some of us know how to use it instead of letting it use us. We are few but we exist. 😉
Author
I love handheld.
I love the color pics, crisp and vivid. I was there back in 2018, I shot it all in B&W, I should have had my head examined! Thanks Dan
Author
I shot it in black and white last year….
Did I ever tell you about the second time I crashed landed a hot air balloon?
Author
No, but you are still here. Two time balloon crash survivor, photographer, please welcome Gregory Streech!
Danielsan, (last-image) Beautiful “family” moment. So close…Yet, so far away.
Author
Gracias….
What do the Balloonists call the engine? It’s not really an engine. Simply a burner? The colors on that image are insane. Nicely done. I am a sucker for hand-held slow speeds in a crowd. Even a solitary “ghost” adds a very direct visual component of time passing. Call it a gimmick, call it cliche I still like it.
Author
It’s that thing that spits fire and might explode…
Welp, I’m gonna try the long exposure experiment. So freaking cool. The last photo makes me sad…brain rot.
Author
Handheld!