As an example, I'd like to present two pictures of door locks that I took over the past couple of weeks. One was taken in the village of Vail, Colorado, a tony playground for the rich, famous and wannabe-famous. The other was taken on a rundown stretch of Dundas Street, just east of London's downtown core.
After looking at both images on the same screen for long enough, part of me wonders whether my perceptions of beauty need to be expanded a bit.
Vail, CO
London, ON
Your turn: If these doors could tell stories, what would they be?
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11 comments:
The Vail door is shiny, presentable, "good show", without being stuffy. It would be a warm concierge, a neatly put-together receptionist at a nice hotel, a toothy but manufactured smile of a print ad.
The London door, though, is a workhorse. It's the blue-collar worker who's proud of its worn, torn look. It treats all its visitors the same, no respector of persons. It's loyal, reliable, and sturdy. While it may have a lot of miles under its belt, you know you can continue to depend on it for years to come. It's gruffly good-natured: it don't need no stinkin' coat of shiny paint!
Stories of wealth vs poverty, brand new vs crumbling, untouched vs repaired, superficial vs rich depth or joy vs despair. Both tell stories of people; people who passed this way, through the doorways they protect. So different, yet much the same.
Spectacular photos, as always.
The "story" that comes to mind in viewing these is....Growing older and tattered around the edges, doesn't diminish the depth of the shininess.
I'm drawn to the red. I wonder if it's because the paint is fresh or if it's because it's red! Of course locks and keys are always mysterious.
I think the London door has had a heck of a lot more keys thrust towards it than the Vail door. And those thrusting the keys have more fun.
The London door: grizzled and gnarled, an old man with a felt hat, walking down the street with his newspaper, finding a bench, watching kids playing in a part, feeling wistful for his own misspent youth.
The Vail door: A crackling fire warms a cozy room, while outside snow falls softly. Inside, a family, the children rosey-cheeked from the cold, gather around a game of Clue, and their laughter is the counterpoint to the wind outside.
This is getting weird, Carmi. We have both been taking similar photos recently. Except the airplane wing and the door locks. Mine are different of course, but similar in composure. Just thought I would share that, cause its weird.
The doors and locks to me, are a lot like people. The new ones get all the attention and admiration. The old ones, with hap hazard repairs are just left alone to decay with time in the careless society we have sown.
I'm not on board with this one, Carmi. I just don't get a good vibe from locks. Sure, we need them, but I wish we didn't.
There would be similar dramas, I bet, at both doors. Pain, romance, hope, loneliness.
The clothes would be different. The stress and loneliness would be of a different kind.
I love doors. I lived in Scotland and the doors were so small it made me think about the smaller generations of men and women that went through them hundreds of years ago.
I don't know what stories they might tell, but I know that the one i'd like to hear would be the London On one...seems the stories it would have to tell would be much more rich and varied. Just like people, the one's most weathered and battered seem to have the most wonderful experiences, both good and bad, to pass on.
Excellent. I love two nearly identical items in contrast. Such different feelings. One shiny and waiting to be used. The other, used often, and if we could only hear the stories it has to tell, we would hear years of joy and sadness.
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