Kasia and I went out the other night into DC to capture the color of light. Our primary site was a construction site right off of Constitution. Our Photography instructor, Aya, told us that there are some amazing shots to be had at these locations due to the high powered flood lights they use to continue working. Since Monday was the last night for posting, we made an impromptu excursion.
As the sun dipped over the horizon, we walked to our site from her parking space on the side of Constitution. Two blocks in, we passed a Buddhist Monk on the sidewalk. “I just need to stop,” Kasia squeaked. I obliged. Kasia set up her tripod from a respectable distance and I watched her work. This is where the magic began to happen.
I watched Kasia, half illuminated by a nearby street lamp, I turned my head to see another monk glide past me, his orange robes flowing from the shadows. He didn’t speak or nod, but walked on. After seeing him, I knew we were going to be here a while and since I didn’t have a snickers to munch on, I also broke out my tripod.
I watched the monk pass Kasia and make his way down the sidewalk towards his brother. I watched everyone as they passed us. Even if they didn’t speak or look at me, they all still made sounds…except for these monks, and the next one that passed and the next one. They came out of nowhere gradually and stood there by the side of the street. The convergence may have took 10 minutes while Kasia and I snapped photos of the mystics to capture them in the night lights.
I would like to say that we had a calm equanimity about our work, but it was completely the exact opposite. We were being eaten alive by every fucking bug within a two mile radius of Washington DC. I slapped at my legs, my arms and head. I flailed around in the dark like I was having a seizure and in between grunts of satisfaction and cries of frustration, I froze long enough to hit the shutter on my camera and tripod. I felt as if I were in hell looking up into heaven.
For every mosquito I killed with my meaty paws, 30 others got their fill of my plasma and platelets. Those dirty buggers almost made me pass out from their feasting and gluttony. In fact, I still feel a bit woozy two days later and I have the welts to prove it.
I continue to itch as I remember the irritation and frustration I felt in the dark watching these peaceful ambassadors. Not once did I see them move suddenly to swat at a biting insect. I watched them as they stood there. I heard nothing when I watched them. Except for the whining sound of an incoming bloodsucker, the rest of the night sounds faded. I don’t remember hearing the buses, the horns, or the meandering tourists with children in tow.
I think the other night is the closest I am going to come to experience an amalgam of heaven and hell, at least until the music stops for me. Only in the Nation’s Capital can we find such chaos and inspiration to do great things.
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