I took an extended leave of absence for the past couple of days (not like you could tell, since I rarely update this anyway) to go on a vacation to St. Augustine with my mom and her dog. Mom and I hadn’t taken a family vacation since I was in elementary school, and this was the first vacation we took where it was just the two of us. I won’t go into memories of how great the vacation was (it was) or any funny stories (unless they’re relevant to the narrative). But I will share the one take-away I, um, took away from the trip:
And it’s this: Love is History.
I don’t mean it in the sense that I’ve given up on love. I haven’t. Really! (Yet.) The only thing I’ve given up on as a result of this trip was my ability to stick with the promise of not eating crap while on vacation. No, it’s a simple statement that finally, after all this time, may just tie my art and my studies together in a perfect little package.
Lately I’ve been in a funk where nothing has been inspiring me or giving me any meaning. I don’t mean I was looking for something life-changing or to totally change my outlook forever. It’s more like my battery had stalled and I was waiting for ALA (American Life Association) to come by and give it a jump-start. I mean, I pay top dollar for this membership; the least they can do every so often is be on time and jump-start my damn…
Um, sorry about that.
I know from previous experience that I tend to do most of my creative work either during or when I return from a vacation. I really try my damn-dest to get inspired here but it never clicks (excuse that photography pun; it’s totally unintentional). Save for me maybe not trying as hard as I should/could, I’ve been questioning myself too much, questioning my decisions that normally I felt really confident about or consider the best move. And I hate questioning myself because I tend to bring up alternatives that I can’t necessarily act on immediately, which depresses me further.
I brought along my good camera (Canon EOS 40D) and tried taking pictures of St. George St., St. Augustine’s “historic” shopping district (I highly doubt they had a Birkenstock store near the Oldest Schoolhouse way back when, but I’m probably splitting hairs), and save for some decent shots in the morning – before the tourists woke up and tourist-ed up the joint – I still wasn’t feeling inspired. I went to the Lightner Museum downtown, which was beautiful but I didn’t really get inspired to take any shots until after I left – and by that time, the tourists had come out of hiding, so that was out. (Looking back I really wish I had stayed around and took some shots, but that’s what “next time” is for.)
By the time I got to the Castillo de San Marcos, the old fort I’d wanted to visit since I was a kid, I’d finally been bitten by the “inspiration” bug and was taking gorgeous pictures left and right. That’s when I felt energized, when I felt like I could stay out far longer than I did taking more pictures. And the best part? Save for some debris on my lens that can be easily Photoshopped out, I succeeded. I didn’t take the precise shot I had dreamed of – the architecture wasn’t what I thought – but I got even better ones.
Later that night, at the hotel, as I was watching “The Office”, I was hit again by the Inspiration Train: A story idea that took place in St. Augustine, a “roncom” and a departure from what I normally write. But it was a story idea. I hadn’t got a new idea for a story since I started writing aimlessly just to “see what happens”. I’m going to get started on that after I finish this.
On the one hand, you can’t wait for inspiration to hit you – sometimes you have to scream at it, kick and punch it, and do whatever it takes to get it fired up. But on the other, I hate that idea. When I walked down St. George St., I didn’t feel as inspired as I did when I was at the Castillo. I tried to force inspiration beyond what little I did get, but I didn’t feeling anything…and I hated myself for goading a miracle that may not have happened on its own. It almost felt greedy.
But at the Castillo, I discovered my niche: historical photography. Not so much documentation or preservation but for artistic purposes. I saw photographs at an antique store near the Lightner Museum that both inspired and challenged me, the feeling where I love the shot but know I could do the exact same thing if I were there. And sure enough, when I was at the Castillo, I did. Maybe because I’m not finding the type of history I’m looking for in my town (founded in 196x), the type that looks regal, worn down, and intimidating.
I’m not out to make these historical buildings and places look “as they were” or some other sort of artsy-fartsy horseshit. Most of the time, my pictures reflect the first time I see these buildings. It’s my way of saying, “Look at the way the light comes in through this window! See how that cannon is positioned to the city – isn’t this cool?” And I’d love it if you agree with me.
I’m not sure if there’s any sort of job out there where I can spend most, if not all, my time traveling to different places and writing about my adventures or taking pictures. Aside from travel journalist, that is. Even if I’m not getting paid to write or shoot or do anything aside from stand still and look pretty, the life on the road is the one for me. The road is where my inspiration comes from, the world beyond my city limits. Regardless of whether it’s the nation’s oldest European-settled city or the LED lights in Time Square, if it’s not something I’ve seen before, I want to see it. And I want to share it with you.
