Sun Sets on Doc’s
Sunrise? Sunset? I’ve always wondered if it’s possible to differentiate the two in a still photo from an unidentifiable location. My novice on the subject leaves me to believe there would be no difference – at least to someone like me. However, I’m sure there is some natural science expert who can make the distinction in the atmospheric differences in subtle hues, cloud density and environmental clues within the mise-en-scène. The atmosphere would be much cooler on sunrise than on sunset possibly contributing to such subtleties. Though as the recent “super moon” teaches us the naked eye truly can’t tell a significant difference in a 15% larger moon. Only when the moon is at the horizon can measurable size be determined. But that’s for another day. I can unequivocally assure that this is a sunset over the Gulf of Mexico.
The Edison and Ford Winter Estate
When Thomas Edison first visited Fort Myers Florida it must have looked vastly different than today. No nondescript urban sprawl, no budget motels and no 2 for 1 T-shirt shops. In fact little existed in the area aside from the abandoned fort of the city’s namesake. So it’s pretty remarkable that someone of Mr. Edison and Mr. Ford’s celebrity decided to develop their winter estate there and lovingly groom and maintain it for more than half a century. By the time Mina Edison deeded the property to the city in 1947 there’s little doubt that the landscape had independently evolved outside the estate.
All of this is, of course, fortunate for us as there’s now a definitive “there’s nothing like this” space in an otherwise unremarkable city that’s squeezed between Gulf, river and swamp. Not only is the estate a perfect slice of solitude for an afternoon stroll it is more importantly a historical time-capsule. Historians and environmentalists will revel in the ability to view the natural landscape along the banks of the Caloosahatchee River manicured as it was more than a century ago and science and technology buffs will geek-out on seeing the museum quality preservation of one of the world’s greatest scientists and inventors’ workshops and personal living space.
Summer Streets of New York
“Summer Streets” in New York offers an accommodating and friendly atmosphere for exercise and recreation. It also gives New Yorkers another venue upon which to knee-cap slower moving pedestrians, practice profanities and further employ an already perfected general anti-social persuasion. For me, I get the opportunity to go all those places along Park Avenue between Central Park and the Brooklyn Bridge that would leave me bedridden and breathing through a tube on any normal Manhattan day. Of course there’s still plenty of speeding objects to dodge, albeit much less lethal. The curved tunnel through Grand Central Terminal is just one of those unique environments that is almost never appreciated on foot.
Table for One
When I wondered into the abandoned Rathskeller in the bowels of Louisville’s Seelbach Hotel I never truly knew what was in my presence. The only light came from the few Gothic wall sconces positioned about and wasn’t significant enough to make out more than vague shapes in the dark hall. Patiently waiting in the solitary space my surroundings were only revealed to me on the LCD of my camera one long 30 second exposure at a time. I was intrigued to discover this lone table and chair waiting in vain for the diner who would not come.
The Bustle and the Glow
Everyone has a vision of Grand Central Terminal. For me two iconic images stand out. As unfortunate everyman, Roger Thornhill (played by Cary Grant) slinks through the bustle of crisscrossing commuters in the terminal’s main concourse in Alfred Hitchock’s classic chase film North by Northwest. His eyes covered by shades and face sunk into the collar of his jacket he desperately attempts to avoid detection by authorities – but, of course, all painfully in vain. Eventually he joins the buzzing mass and races to the train ramp to board the iconic 20th Century Limited bound for Chicago leaping luggage and skirting collision along the way.
As hyper-anxiety driven as Hitchcock’s portrayal of the Terminal is the other image that comes to my mind is equally as tranquil. There are a number of photos that were taken in the Terminal’s early years that show the main concourse at the height of the day with bright sunlight streaming through the upper windows. The light is cast through the vast and dark cavernous space illuminating the floor and passengers below and rendering the atmosphere in between as tangible as the structure itself. No image better expresses the grandeur and cathedral-like quality of the Terminal.
As different as both images are they both show us the space in daytime. This particular visit of mine was at night. I too wanted to capture the bustle of the commuters and tourists but also the magnificent way the stone and green decorated skyscape ceiling seemed to glow in the artificial illumination. All of which has only been possible since a 1998 restoration that removed decades of nicotine and tobacco smoke black staining.
Market Day
The seasonal delights of market day in Manhattan. Carrots of many variety, rosy radishes, tomatoes so irregular that they’d never see the stand at even the smallest grocer, local lobster shaded and cooled on ice, crisp New England apples, rustic crates of greens and the most seasonal of all sweet corn with husks of course. Sunday, stroll, Union Square, New York City.
Top of the Ox
I’ve always considered this place to be my secret spot on campus. One that I could retreat to and never be found. Not surprisingly it probably doesn’t hold that role any longer. Since the renovation of the Oxley Thompson Library the University has been quite proud of the work done including this penthouse reading room.
As an undergraduate I frequented this very spot specifically for its remoteness. Then, just another floor of crowded cold metal book stacks with the occasional 1950s era secretary’s desk under small light-giving windows, it was possible to feel a million miles from the bustle of The Oval’s crisscrossing veins a dozen or so stories below.
Maybe someone at the University too shared my appreciation for the views and solitude of this top floor as the renovation has expanded the magnificence of that cozy desk and window to encompass the entire floor. The Ohio State University is filled with these secret spots and when discovered they offer opportunities for reflection and inspiration unparalleled anywhere else on campus.
The New Grand Tour
Photographer Thomas Hawk has been working on a massive project to shoot the 100 largest cities in America. Of course that is an extremely broad and ambitious task. Provided the endless time, financial independence, disposable income and unconditional support from my family I’d love to do something similar and shoot the 100 finest hotels in American – a new Grand Tour. But why limit it to America or even 100 for that matter? Who’s to say that hotel 101 is any less luxurious than 100? And maybe the line should be drawn somewhere much lower. Maybe the top 25 or so are the cream of the crop and there’s a considerable drop in quality after that. Possibly 100 is simply the arbitrary number for Thomas in order to give the project nice round indicator of completion.
As I was saying, hotels are some of my favorite places to visit. And it’s fitting that you need to stay in them when you travel. For cities like New York that have an endless wealth of attractions, fine hotels are just more great additions to the full portfolio. But even cities that aren’t rich travel destinations still build great Meccas of accommodation in order to entice outsiders. They are prime sources for high architecture, art, culture and history in their given location. A good example is this hotel, the Seelbach in Louisville, Kentucky.
When travelling to new population centers, even if just passing through, I always seek out the finest hotel. Even cities of certain size that appear to have nothing of substance to their name will have a hotel worth at least a quick stroll through the lobby. Hotels not only contribute great buildings and business to a community but they also salvage, restore and preserve properties in danger of destruction. They occupy palazzos in Venice, castles in Germany, monasteries in France, estates in America and just about any other conceivable property of importance that had once seen better days.
To the benefit of the photographer, most hotel establishments are extremely proud of their usually historic institutions and want people taking photos as much as photographers want to take them. If only I could locate a wealthy donor to invest in my new Hawk-inspired project plan – my New Grand Tour – and send me around the world to document the finest the service industry has to offer.
Gargoyles and Groin Vaults
Reading earlier from the the history of the Seelbach Hotel hardback that was lying on the nightstand in our room, I knew that this space existed. Through its one hundred plus years the Rathskeller has apparently had trouble finding its place. Suffering through a vicious cycle of permanent closures and marginal usage I presume the current owners are too struggling to define a proper use for the vaulted space. Late after dinner, when the hotel seemed more desolate than even early in the morning, I went snooping to locate the historic hall where Al Capone, among countless others, came to drink and gamble. A woman was speaking with the concierge expressing her concern over a recent ghostly encounter she had in the Rathskeller. Listening with a certain countenance of boredom as though he’d heard a similar story many times previous he simply nodded while she proceeded to rationalize the incident to herself stating “this stuff seems to happen to me a lot.” I instantly became even more intrigued and motivated to seek out the haunted hall. I nearly interrupted the conversation to ask for specifics of it’s whereabouts.
When I discovered the heavy, creaky doors I was happy to find that they were unlocked despite the near pitch-black state of the out-of-use room. Lit with the most understated glow the residual burn coming from the lights appeared to be fueled only by the energy of centuries of memories. The Rathskeller was so dark that I never truly got a feel for space until after reviewing the LCD on my camera after a first 30 second exposure. Luckily (or unluckily) I discovered no unexpected presence on the viewfinder or in person. Though the memories of the Seelbach’s Rathskeller certainly crowd its vaults they seemed quiet at least during my visit.
Observing Those at Play
Under the watchful eyes of their guardians of masonry and steel the citizens of New York frolic and play in the overgrown sandbox of their overgrown community. Even winter’s dictatorial flannel looming close overhead can’t completely repress the will of youthful recreation. While the sprite and lively spiral and salchow the now quite matured observers look down on the ancient natural landscape almost like aging grandparents enjoying a bench at a playground. There’s much to love about central park even if it’s reputation among many, even its stuffy neighbors, is less than virtuous. For those who wouldn’t think of cutting it’s length even if to just pass through, nostalgic wintry scenes such as this are unfortunately missed.
Wedging the Winds
It seems that every great structure comes with an equally great story. The Flatiron probably has enough for several buildings. One particular tale stuck out to me because it gives us insights beyond what the iron and masonry can provide. When built in 1902 the Flatiron was one of the tallest buildings in New York but it was the wedge-like triangle shape that was the source of alarm. It seemed to defy gravity and perplexed and captivated the public. Complicating this precarious perception was the geography of the Flatiron site. The northerly down-winds gust violently over Madison Square and down Broadway (pictured left) and Fifth Avenue (pictured right) on either side of the building. Though physically an impossibility the fear was real that the Flatiron would simply blow over.
However, it was these very winds that became the attraction more than the building itself. Hoping to get glimpses of passing women’s dresses being caught in the whirling winds the men of New York gathered. In their endless efforts of dispersing the loiterers the police began using the oh-so-appropriate old-timey phrase “23 Skidoo” (presumably referencing the Flatiron 23rd street address). It’s thought that this term eventually gave rise to our modern day command “scram.”
I’m not so sure that such a story would materialize the same these days but it does give us a little window into a century’s old social sensibilities. And light-hearted and even charming ones at that. After all, even though they talked and dressed funny they were still just people like us.
Distant Frigid Memories
On these 90 degree days it’s amazing how distant snow covered ground feels and to think back on how familiar and expected it was at the time. I’d walk outside and not even notice the snow. Of course there should be snow on the ground! I’m actually amazed at how much those of us who live in the more drastic seasonal swing areas endure. I mean seriously. I honestly believe that I have a whole physical and, even more-so, mental skill-set that those living in, say, southern California or Florida can’t even fathom. So maybe they have to deal with fires, earthquakes, alligators and Tom Cruise but they don’t even own coats. The moment they begin buying peacoats for purposes other than being a James Dean look-a-like then I’ll reconsider my judgement.
Anyway, this shot was taken in bitter January looking east across the oval from The Ohio State University’s William Oxley Thompson Memorial Library. I have a lot of memories of nearly all of the halls that ring the oval. I often quiz myself by naming each and their respective colleges. While the vast majority campus barely resembles the one I navigated in the late 1990s these structures have remain nearly unchanged for almost a century.
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