In a total state of disarray, I booked a ticket, filled out the necessary forms to replace an expired passport and got on a plane to the north coast of Colombia. Internet research on the area proved futile, and in full knowledge of how slow life is in a small town in the middle of nowhere (think Oklahoma City with mosquitoes), I rolled into town with the intention of staying a full five weeks to shoot and tape sound.
¡Ay Caramba!
When I got here I was slammed against a thought lurking in the back of my head: Everything in the epicenter of my centenarian subject was, too, going to be around 100 years old. Houses, sidewalks, and friends lingering and lumbering on, mostly withering away.
One hundred-year-old people are surrounded by 100-year-old things.
Yes, it's a part of life, and there is a sweet sadness to be savored. However I didn't understand until I got here that I was walking into a closing book.
One of the houses I was planning to photograph was being evacuated; stacks of fine china and armies of crystal glasses were being packed away, their destiny unknown, the process being done in a different universe from its owners.
I had experienced this several times before. Leaving a place where many years had passed within, what is left behind? With every item packed, discarded, sold or given away, one can't help but look back on an item's significance. The window is poised on a moment etched in time.
¡Ay Caramba!
When I got here I was slammed against a thought lurking in the back of my head: Everything in the epicenter of my centenarian subject was, too, going to be around 100 years old. Houses, sidewalks, and friends lingering and lumbering on, mostly withering away.
One hundred-year-old people are surrounded by 100-year-old things.Yes, it's a part of life, and there is a sweet sadness to be savored. However I didn't understand until I got here that I was walking into a closing book.
One of the houses I was planning to photograph was being evacuated; stacks of fine china and armies of crystal glasses were being packed away, their destiny unknown, the process being done in a different universe from its owners.
I had experienced this several times before. Leaving a place where many years had passed within, what is left behind? With every item packed, discarded, sold or given away, one can't help but look back on an item's significance. The window is poised on a moment etched in time.
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