garrison beau scott

I’ve been absent recently as I come to terms with something we all know haunts our steps and lurks around the corners of our lives. Yet looking it in the eyes is something even the staunchest realist might fail at when faced with its existence. I wish I were talking about taxes.

Some of my earliest memories include my grandmother Rose, a woman who, for the better part of my life time has been known to everyone as Gaga, if only because I couldn’t master the word grandmother as a wee lad. And for those of you who think that moniker a tough road to hoe for almost 40 years, well you haven’t seen her medical file. I do not exaggerate when I say they need a rolling cart and two orderlies to wheel the thing in prior to any of the medical procedures she’s had to endure over the last 20 years.

I will be flying “home” to California to see her, and in all probability say good-bye. The very thought of this trip and the reason for it, brings up a good many of those memories as well as thoughts of her life prior to me joining it and saddling her with a name, that for me, is synonymous with eternal and unconditional love. I was once told she’d walk through fire for me, and every time I set out to test that theory, she proved it in the positive.

As she lies in a hospital bed, and most likely hoping to join the man she loved as opposed to going home again, and alone, I look at this photo of the two of them, so long ago, with so much of their lives ahead of them. My dad recently sent me this picture. It arrived a day before the news that Gaga was dying. He didn’t know the history of the picture other than what is told by the image itself. More than likely my grandfather is on leave of some kind prior to his shipping out for the Philippines and the great war. I think it’s Chicago, as that’s where they were living, and the photographer is totally unknown.

What is known is that my grandfather would return home after the war as a Colonel to meet his 2 year old son, and some 16 years later, they’d move to Newport Beach, dad would meet mom, have me and I’d affix the name of Gaga on the woman who’d buy me my very first camera. A Minolta Pocket Auotpak 70. I still have it, and while I still have her, I’ll be on my way to tell her how much I love her.

And during this time of year, maybe we should all reach out to those whom we still have and do the same.

What a night this was. I had just crossed the States on a bus for what would be my 2nd Greyhound trip. Winter 1996. The entire scheme hatched to get me from California to Philadelphia in time for a pair of Phish shows at the Spectrum. And of all things I run across my friend Gus in the parking lot. That Gus, he’s a fun guy. Anyways…the show melted my face and all the surrounding snow, as evident by the conspicuous lack of any of the frozen stuff on the ground.

I don’t know what the percentages are in the argument over wether or not these guys should just pick up their instruments and re-take over the world of “jam band” but for what it’s worth, I vote a resounding yes. Looking through some of the set lists I faithfully compiled over the years while attending my fair share of shows, I can’t help but think that a second set that looks like this….

David Bowie
A Day in the Life
Bathtub Gin >
Lizards
*You Enjoy Myself >
16 Candles >
You Enjoy Myself >
Vocal Jam >
Harpua >
#Champagne Supernova >
Harpua

and a Rocky Top encore

…would just have a little positive effect on mankind as a whole. Don’t you think? Besides, I’ve yet to find anything remotely as good as a parking lot gooey ball since they shut down shop a few years back.

*instrument switch
#Tom Marshall on vocals

So we made it to the gates of Troja, and that was it. I really didn’t mind so much, that day was a concrete lesson in the value of the journey as opposed to the destination, and the journey was only halfway complete. We still needed to walk home. There are pictures you take, that before you even snap the shutter, or frame the scene, you know will be special. This day I felt I had more than my share of them.

There would be a few more on the walk back to our hotel, one of which will reman as my all time favorites. You can view it here as I’ve already posted it.

But our story doesn’t end there. On our very last day in Prague, I managed to gain a portfolio review at the Chamber Gallery of the Josef Sudek House of Photography, and from that meeting I received an exhibition the following July. And so we would return to Prague, and ultimately Troja. This time, we’d walk through the gates and explore not only the amazing grounds, but the museum that at one point was the Summer Palace. And once again we walked from our hotel and revisited the places that were the scenes of the previous pictures. It was like seeing old friends after being separated for a time. I had become so intimate with these images, printing them for the show and building the portfolios and such, so it was pretty cool to stand in front of them once again and not have to worry about anything like shutter speed or people walking in front of the scene. I could just stand in awe of that which drew me in originally.

I hope to go back to Prague, and visit these old friends once more. Maybe sit on these benches and catch up.

One of the drawbacks to not reading your guidebooks, is the possibility you might miss an important bit of information regarding the places you are going to end up visiting. Case in point, had I read anything about Troja, other than it was “further afield,” I would have realized it was the Summer Palace, emphasis on Summer. And this being November, which isn’t a summer month, Troja would be closed.

So this is all the farther I got to seeing the palace. The front gates.

But this wouldn’t be the last I’d see of Troja, fate would have it’s influence on me yet, I’d just have to wait a few more months to understand that.

We’re still in Stromovka Park, but the signs are indicating that we’re close to Troja, which is just outside the park and across a footbridge that spans a small river. But before we begin the next leg of the journey, as the title says, an interlude.

I’m a spiritual person, but I believe that’s a very private affair and my beliefs have no place in this blog or in general discussion. Let’s just leave it at that I’m spiritual, and as such I feel that I’ve found myself in places because of it.

To that end, if ever there were a moment in time where I felt that I was destined to be a photographer, it was when I snapped this shot. Well, not at the time of exposure as at that instance, I had no idea what I’d done. So I guess it was while I was in the darkroom and saw the first test print come up in the soup. When I framed up the buildings and added in the vast expanse of the sky, I had no idea what was forming on the emulsion. I just liked the juxtaposition of the old building crowned by tress and the sky.

During the printing stage, I had to add a bunch of extra time just to get any detail in the clouds, and when I accidently went too far, I found, well…

…this

Now, I see “it” as plain as day, others do as well, and some see something totally different. Some just see a cloud. I can’t help but think it’s a sign that I’m doing what I need to be doing with my time here. That is to say, walking around with my head in the clouds, tripping on how beautiful and random life can be in the string of fleeting moments that make up our existence. A second or two here or there, a glance down instead of up and what we’re supposed to discover slips by us. Unless you believe you’re tapped into the life essence that will put your two feet in the exact place they’re destined to occupy at the exact moment of time that enables you to witness those tiny miracles that re-affirm, “You Are.”