Two years ago Anker and I returned from nine amazing days in Portugal to discover that the view from our Warsaw windows got a focus-pulling update while we were away.
Garrison Command Club, the glass tube letters spelled. A civilian through and through, I resisted comprehending what that even means. End of an era, I thought. Light pollution, I thought. Now those sunsets will have to share the spotlight. Oh, how my skyline photos will never be the same.
I took a picture and posted it on Facebook along with a brief account of my grief. Comments from friends confirmed my loss. For months I recoiled just a bit when I took in the view.
Slowly, this reaction of mine began to transform. Yes, the big new neon still seemed off, but the fact that it bothered me was becoming increasingly familiar and itself source of amusement. In time, I saw modernist beauty in the simple letterforms and I lit to recognizing the rhythm of the bulbs going on and off. Eventually, as I held my camera on my seventh story balcony and scanned the horizon for the perfect frame, I found myself avoiding the neon less and less, showcasing it less and less ironically—until, this past summer, I awoke to a sense that it’s not only a handsome new neighbor and a favorite subject to photograph, but also something I’ve made mine, against any identifiable expectations.
When the letters G, A, R, and N dimmed and took on a yellow cast, in early August, I really felt as though I were the only person alert to their impending burnout. Weeks later, my hunch was confirmed. It was as if I had been chosen to document this preposterous failure of all the sign’s letters to shine. Now documenting my neon was a duty and an honor. I would upload evening shots into Lightroom, for once feeling every inch the patriot. When the sign glowed intact again in early September, all I had in response was admiration and pride.
Acceptance, it turns out, is just the beginning. If you’re curious enough and open enough, there is wonderment to be tapped—not with every setback, of course, but often in the things you resist because you think they eclipse what you love.
I was right about one thing, however, back when I first saw this giant sign: my skyline photos are not the same. And that’s a good thing.
All photos by the author, taken between November 2018 and October 2020 with the Fujifilm X-T20 and the 90mm f/2.0 Fujinon telephoto prime.
Posted on my forty-third birthday, in the spirit of celebrating transformation, acceptance, and openness. (Also: putting a post up gives me wings, so of course that’s how I want to feel on my birthday.)