We had just come out of the Pantheon. People were everywhere. As we rounded a corner, the music that was blending with the noisy ambiance suddenly became clear. Two guys, street performers, had set up their gear and drawn a crowd. We had places to go, so much to see. No time to stop. But the music. It was Incredible. We could see it in their faces, the guitarist and the cellist. We could see it in the faces of the crowd, trance-like. Time stopped with us. We listened, a blend of new-age classical with a hint of Italian oregano. The spell broke when the music stopped. A breeze rustled our clothes. Time to go. More to see. As we wandered away, the music resumed. Even now, the siren’s song remains in our ears, calling us back to Rome.
It has been a few months now since I was in Rome. Yet, the feeling of Rome has stayed with me. It’s hard to describe. Every city has a personality. There are some cities that are welcoming and inviting. Other cities are dirty, and scary. Still others have an energy that is exciting and invigorating.
For me, Rome was all of these and more. On one hand, it was steeped in ancient tradition. The Ghosts of ancient Rome were still present. The evolution of the ancient was overlaid with an oppressive Catholic air. Yet, on the other hand, that very air was vibrating with life. I could see it in the faces of people–some locals–most tourists, I presume. I would have liked to explore and research the Eternal City through the lens of my camera in greater detail, but alas, I had but one day.
This gallery is the first part of a two part essay on the people of Rome from last September, when the sun was warm, the leaves were turning and the city was very much alive. I’ll post the second part in a day or so. Your questions, comments and/or profound thoughts on the purpose of life through the lens are most welcome.
Paris is a city in motion. Cars, motorcycles, scooters, bicycles, the Metro and people. People everywhere, constantly moving. It was easy, shooting motion pictures. Not so easy to capture stills. And the stories–in every face–I want to know them all. I have my own stories, but I want to know theirs. They won’t tell–easily. All I can do is stare–at their faces–and wonder. I will just have to imagine their stories.