In one of
the galleries on First Street there was a small collection of
watercolors of river district scenes. One in particular caught my
attention. In the foreground was a row of small racing yachts on
their trailers, their bows in a line against a background of familiar
buildings. I had seen them there, those yachts, but never had tried
to make the photograph. In that painting, I saw an opportunity
missed.
A week
later I was planning my weekend forays. I hadn't been down to the
river district for quite a while. I like to photograph the downtown
in the early morning, but more and more lately I had been thwarted by
some event – barricades in the streets, vendors setting up their
tents, trucks, generators – unpicturesque things. So I checked the
River District's website to see what's going on. Bike night! Hey,
that's great. They don't let anybody park in the heart of downtown,
and so the next morning, after the party's over, the streets are
empty and there aren’t any cars parked on the streets. Good for
me! Then I decided I ought to go down there tonight and see what I
can get. And so I did. There were hundreds of motorcycles parked on
the street, a couple of bands, lots of people having a great time,
and that big, deep, Harley sound. I had visualized rows of bikes
reflecting street lights in shiny curves and chrome and bikers and
their biker chicks, partying, blurred by seconds-long exposures and
the plastic cups of beer in their hands. I had a fun time making
pictures, but didn't manage to get anything I liked. All deletable.
As I
walked back to the car, I saw them. Those yachts. Those yachts in
the painting. It took a telephoto zoom to work the composition, to
weave it in amongst the people sitting around in the park watching
their kids play on the swings. Occasionally children ran through my
frame while the shutter was open, but at the long exposures I was
using, they became as diaphanous as ghosts. This is the picture I
ended up with. Not my usual fare – grittier, with more urban
chaos. Not nearly as nice as the painting I had admired; hardly even
similar to it. But, as one of the aging rockers up on the stage
tonight sang, “I know it's only rock and roll, but I like it, I
like it, Yes I do.”
Days
later, I went back to the gallery where I had seen the painting to
learn the name of the artist. The painting I had seen was gone. I
turned around and saw it on another wall. It was the same yachts in
the same location but it didn't look as I remembered it. Was it the
same painting or a different painting of the same scene? I don't
know. But I do know the artist's name is David Belling.
A week
later I was planning my weekend forays. I hadn't been down to the
river district for quite a while. I like to photograph the downtown
in the early morning, but more and more lately I had been thwarted by
some event – barricades in the streets, vendors setting up their
tents, trucks, generators – unpicturesque things. So I checked the
River District's website to see what's going on. Bike night! Hey,
that's great. They don't let anybody park in the heart of downtown,
and so the next morning, after the party's over, the streets are
empty and there aren’t any cars parked on the streets. Good for
me! Then I decided I ought to go down there tonight and see what I
can get. And so I did. There were hundreds of motorcycles parked on
the street, a couple of bands, lots of people having a great time,
and that big, deep, Harley sound. I had visualized rows of bikes
reflecting street lights in shiny curves and chrome and bikers and
their biker chicks, partying, blurred by seconds-long exposures and
the plastic cups of beer in their hands. I had a fun time making
pictures, but didn't manage to get anything I liked. All deletable.
