It’s pretty remarkable how the character of a city can be felt so immediately upon first arrival. Czech people, obviously, are a much different crowd than Barcelonans. But in Prague (and, granted, I was probably projecting a lot subconsciously) so much could be read just in the make up of the city itself. Off-kilter color combinations, a type of energy that has been constrained within clean, but also aged, geometry—the whimsy of a culture, confined to particular designated parameters. A charming backwardness, too, that you don’t see in western Europe.

I’m being heavy-handed in drawing parallels with the Czech Rep.’s history, but throughout our (5 day) stay it was incredibly clear (more than other places I’ve been) that the city’s character has been so historically determined.  And now, in most ways, the city has completely embraced capitalism—albeit a bit awkwardly. Some Czech intellectual we met on the train (he was reading Slavoj Zizek in transit) called it the ‘disneyland’ of central Europe.  It really was, and I think we all completely embraced it in all of its touristic charm. It was hard not to—the storybook quality of it all, the cobblestone streets and the town clock, the castle, the Prague bridge. And then / BUT then there was cheap beer, hidden galleries and absinthe bars, cards for hours with good company. Even the lighting during the ‘golden hours’ felt different.

I snuck into the media library at FAMU, Prague’s film school, for a few hours, and paged through their photography collection. I feel like I can contextualize photographic styles a bit more now— more than ever, recognize what I like and what I don’t. Being able to draw upon a point of reference—seeing an art/media/visual theory vocabulary coalesce now that I’m more familiar with the Ruffs, Goldins, and Barthes(es?)—is pretty gratifying. Still feel like a novice but it whets my appetite for more.

A few photos from the trip—

—and some more.

These are some of the portraits I’ve been taking on my street-photography excursions during the past three weeks in Barcelona. It can be so exhilarating to be alone, snapping photographs of strangers— time isn’t important (except the hours left of daylight), and when things are going really well, neither is hunger— I’ve been demolishing sugar packets that I’ve been hoarding from friends and from coffee shops in times of diabetic need. 

Although these are all in movement, there’s a formality to the portraits- a stillness, receptivity that isn’t so much a part of the other street photographs I’ve taken. Taking the liberty to snap a person’s photo here has been more thrilling, and dangerous? than I’d anticipated— I’ve been followed, told to erase my photographs, been called a dirty whore (yelled down from a balcony near the red light district, actually), among other things. Unfortunately tumblr isn’t letting me load the rest of the collection that I have, but maybe I’ll try putting up more soon. I’m just beginning to process the massive digital pile of accumulated photos now that my time in BC is coming to a close— in typical me-fashion,  I’m already feeling sentimental about leaving this place.

now seems like a good opportunity, if any (actually, especially) to quote some Lorca:

“I know there is no straight road
No straight road in this world
Only a giant labyrinth
Of intersecting crossroads”

I like thinking of these photo-taking moments as a point of intersection— where the camera becomes a vehicle towards some sort of human connection, however brief. In this sense, maybe, I legitimize the extremes taken towards getting a photograph— which can sometimes feel fairly one-sided, even exploitative. In some ways I’ve felt like the camera has gotten in the way of living experience, but for the most part, it’s been a really wonderful medium towards authentic interaction.