Surprising juxtaposition of signs posted on a wall in Le Marais, Paris
Street posters on urban walls can be interesting in a variety of ways. Often the colors are wildly juxtaposed, ranging from retro monochromatic looks to posters that go for very bright colors of paper, illustration, and text in an attempt to stand out from the other posters. They are not designed to last, and they often weather in interesting ways, with rips and runs and flaps and gouges. Interesting juxtapositions develop as the old layers are covered by the new and, over time, the new may fall off and reveal even older material.
These “Exposition Le Bikini” posters, in various sizes, were all over this part of Paris — we were walking through Le Marais. They may show up in some of my other street photographs from this visit, though not as central elements as in this one. I found the juxtaposition of “bikini” posters with posters for what I presume is a performance of very old Russian sacred music to be mildly jarring!
“Rooftops Of Paris, Twilight” — Rooftops of Paris and the Eiffel Tower at Twilight, Montmartre
This photograph is partly a hotel story. There are all sorts of such stories, but this one began poorly and ended well. We took a cab from the train station to our hotel when we arrived in Paris, hopped out, ran inside, went to the desk to check in… and they had no idea who we were. Uh, we were in the wrong hotel. Ours was next-door and, if I recall, had a similar name. We sorted this out, went to the right hotel, checked in, and went up to our room. We opened the door to find… someone else’s luggage spread out in the room. Uh, no…
Back downstairs at the desk they apologized profusely and asked if we should mind an upgrade to a better room with a better view on a higher floor. Sounded good to us, and we ended up high enough to have a decent overview of the surroundings. We didn’t initially think of this in a photographic context, at least not until we found ourselves in the room at twilight one evening as lights began to come on in the city and soon the Eiffel Tower was illuminated.
Restaurant with windows open on a spring evening, San Francisco
On foot in the twilight, I’m always intrigued by the worlds inside restaurants and bars, separated from the outside world on the street but visible through windows. I suppose there is a bit of a voyeuristic appeal in this, but I’m also fascinated by the light and by the little vignettes, sometimes almost like separate photographs, that are framed by the windows.
This time I was out with a small group of night and street photographers, and we had just wrapped up some photography of a somewhat iconic view of the San Francisco waterfront. I decided to wander back into areas more conducive to my kind of street photography, so I walked past and briefly photographed a number of places like this one, a small bar (I think) in an old (or at least old-looking) wooden structure attached to the side of a much larger building, and with its windows open to the pleasant air of a spring evening.
Two decades after agreements between Utah and federal government to protect this national monument for all Americans in perpetuity, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument is under threat from an administration that wants us to overlook its precious qualities and forget the hard-fought agreements (many of which benefit Utah) that let to its creation.
Some will tell you that places like Escalante-Grand Staircase National Monument are “empty” lands, and I can understand why a person might assume so — perhaps a first-time visitor or possibly a person who has never been there and is skeptical about what others say about the place.
I came to the red rock country rather late myself. I had decades in “my Sierra” under my belt, and it was hard to see how this Utah landscape could compare to the rocky heights,meadows, and forests I knew, especially since my only experience with Utah had come when I was very young and my family drove across the state past the Great Salt Lake on the way to someplace else.
Canyon Reflections
But friends insisted, “You have to go to Utah!” Eventually I went, hitting the big national parks, justifiably famous for deep canyons, red rock pinnacles, domes, and more. I even passed through Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, driving through the town of Escalante — I don’t recall stopping — on my way to one of those other places, unaware of and uninterested in what might be in the “empty” place outside the town.
Dry, cracked mud on top of red sand under reflected canyon light, Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument
Although I missed many things, at least I knew that I wanted to come back to Southern Utah.
Not long afterwards, a photographer friend suggested we go there in the fall and explore some places that he and his friends know. He has photographed here for decades, so I welcomed the chance to learn about places off the beaten track. We started in one of those big national parks, but then we headed to Kanab, and from there we decided to explore a few less known locations.
A box elder tree stands against the vertical sandstone walls of a Utah slot canyon
One morning we headed up a road into Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. There was the camaraderie of being on the road with friends, along with the expectation that I would “discover” interesting things. However, as we headed up this gravel track, I found the visual impact of the scene was, to be honest, less than stunning. It seemed like, dare I admit it, an “empty” landscape — dry, relatively flat, no rocky peaks, and on that day a boring sky.
Miles up the road we pulled out and parked along a short nondescript spur, dusty and surrounded by brush. (Stopping at nondescript places would eventually become something to look forward to in this country!) I couldn’t see a thing that suggested a photograph, but we loaded up and dropped down a hill to a small creek. This was to be, finally, my first real introduction to canyon country.
Striped Rock, Grass, and Sand
I’m in my element in the Sierra, where most everything is, by now, second nature. I was distinctly not in my element here, and almost everything was new. We followed the shallow stream, sometimes walking on soft and wet sand, at times crossing drier ground between meanders and passing beneath cottonwoods, and often just wading straight up the creek. Rock walls began to rise on either side of the creek, and before long we were in a fairly narrow canyon. In places brush grew from cracks in the red rock, lit by reflected light bouncing down the canyon walls from above. The gentle sound of the creek was a constant accompaniment. I began to notice small things — some reflecting mud, a riffle reflecting light from canyon walls and sky, a few leaves lying on red rock, grass bent by passing water, reddish sand, rock strata offset by a crack, the texture of wet sand — and each one warranted a pause to photograph.
Not all places worth protecting qualify on the basis of monumental, stupendous features. Saving those is easy, since anyone can see they are spectacular. (OK, almost anyone.) But just because a landscape like that of Grand Staircase-Escalante reveals itself gradually and more quietly and over a longer period of time, it and the “empty space” it occupies are no less precious. In fact, because this beauty is more fragile and less obvious, I would argue that it may be even more precious.
G Dan Mitchell is a California photographer and visual opportunist. His book, “California’s Fall Color: A Photographer’s Guide to Autumn in the Sierra” is available from Heyday Books and Amazon.
