Author: dakotalkern

Morning Glories / June 27, 2019

Soft pink skies give this city my favorite tint. I think that the absence of highlights make everything above the horizon seem as though it’s grinning from ear to ear. The people around are untouchable; they’re nocturnalists enjoying the last stretch of their night, they’re the most dedicated employees, working the earliest and latest hours of the day simply to provide, they’re travelers who’ve just stepped onto these streets from the first time after a long flight. You can be anyone here, and a 4:00 am stroll will be all that you need to believe it.

Prague taught me how to love others better – strangers and friends. Prague taught me the importance of both solitude and encouraging company. Prague taught me where the color lies in each day – in each moment. This place taught me a lot of things. These last few days are how I want to spend the rest of my life; I want to be eager to learn and pay close attention to everything. I want to take every opportunity to just lay on the grass and take in the stages of the sky. I want to hug and laugh and skip and share with new people, people who want all the same for me. I want to be humbled at all times in all ways; feeling small is my favorite feeling.

I’m an early bird and a nocturnalist. I’m a people pleaser and an individualist. I’m all about capturing the moment and living in it. My life is absent of definites and I think that I’ve finally come to terms with it. Thirty days here was all it took to show me the value in every one of those things – in every part of me and in every part of you. I guess this is when I’m supposed to say thank you.

Architecturally Speaking / June 26, 2019

I think that it’s fair to claim that Prague has a bit of architecture that would satisfy everyone. The tourists who have no clue what they’re looking at but still desire modern and flashy, the historian who craves buildings with some life tucked under their belt, and up and coming architecture students who have extensive knowledge about design and its influence.

It seems as though every time we round a corner there is some sort of construction project going on to advance and expand the city. New palettes of color grace every street and name its character. Iconic symbols of Romanesque, Gothic, Renaissance, and more stand towering over the city. Their varying doors welcome in all types of people and artists and dreamers. 

Walking by this building on the way home from lecture yesterday was the best reminder of this reality that has already become commonplace for me. Imagining the building facades of Texas makes me miss it less and less. This specific structure stuck out like a sore thumb in the plane with its neighbors, but followed the footing of the city in its colorful dance without any fault.

Small Wonder / June 25, 2019

Watching the pastels of the day leave with the sun and fade into cool blues and purples is a favorite of both locals and tourists. The hotspots of the city are buzzing after dusk with Trdlenik stands, street performers, and an abundance of other attractions. Cobblestone streets turn the culture into a melting pot. 

Art makes its stand through the vessel of floating yogis, caricaturists, and spray paint artists. Music in the form of individual acoustic performers and jazz bands occupy every corner. The city exudes vibrancy in every creative aspect imaginable.

Just when I thought I had escaped the beautiful chaos that is the talent of downtown Prague, I stepped into the last cart of the A Line Metro. A passionate melody slowly built and drew me in. This man was not play for attention or money or any motivation other than his own personal desire. His stage was not the corner of Old Town, but the corner of the Subway. Watching his smile and spunk grow more confident with each lyric was addicting. 

Morning Glories / June 24, 2019

Most of the morning strolls that I’ve heard about or been a part of myself have consisted of nothing more than construction workers and drunks who lasted through the night and into the rising sun. I decided to take the risk and instead of running to my typical default of Charles Bridge, I made a trip down some of the more quiet neighborhoods of Prague. 

The 4:00 am wakeup felt absolutely pointless for the first hour or so of my venture. My unaccompanied stroll was peaceful and restful, but could have been made at a more decent hour of the day. After blocks and blocks of no success, I decided to take a break and grab a much needed coffee. I parked myself out front per usual and caught a glimpse of this joyful family out of the corner of my eye.

Looking back on the moment makes me giggle a little now. 

My heart was so full after the click of the last shutter faded. I was genuinely shocked to see such a sight – a family spending quality time together and simultaneously enjoying the tranquility and recharge that a good morning has to offer. I am forever indebted to photography for not only making these moments something that I want to preserve, but something that I wish to take a personal part in.

Lugging a camera around a new country for a month has not been the easiest task. I have had unwanted confrontation, endless stares, and have acquired what I’m sure is a permanent bruise on my hip. But as with any challenge, I gained the greatest reward – my eyes are forever peeled for the simple things. A light peaking through the darkest of doorways, an individual’s personality through the expression of clothing, an unspoken love shared between a quiet family on an early morning. Whether or not photography is what I decide to pursue as a career, I will forever be internally storing moments like these and for that I could not be more thankful.

Small Wonder / June 23, 2019

I’m not sure that I will ever truly understand the balance between taking and making a picture. Situationally, there are times when I am just truly unable to stop and speak with the subject of my picture. Sometimes that’s due to a language barrier, sometimes it’s because they’re in a rush and running late somewhere, and sometimes I just honestly get a little nervous confronting a stranger. 

For example, this picture was captured on my way out of a coffee shop to meet the rest of my classmates for the continuation of our tour around the city; arriving late to this was not an option. But even now, just glancing at the faces in the frame makes me a little bit embarrassed – feeling as though I somehow stole this moment. A sunny afternoon, a pick-me-up snack, a window seat for two. It was simple and sweet and pure and everything in between, but I feel as though the picture portrays none of this because I don’t have a substantial story to tell.

That’s a problem that I’ve run into time and time again on this trip – feeling as though there is some sort of authorization I must obtain in order to post a picture of someone. Authorization that can only be given by the subject after assurance that their story is being told the way they wish it to be. 

Time has made me a little more brave, but there are still an array of problems that arise and prevent me from fully knowing the purpose of my work. I hope to one day leave behind my passion for being a photographer and instead grow into the role of “storyteller”.

Architecturally Speaking / June 22, 2019

Reactions in this place were priceless. Faces, young and old, tilted their gaze upward to absorb the distinct scene before them. Sedlec Ossuary is a small Roman Catholic chapel located in Kutná Hora, Czech Republic. It’s interior is composed of the skeletons of tens of thousands; the remains taking on the form of chandeliers, wall decor, and other forms of furnishings. 

The legend we were told in explanation for this architectural mark made everything a bit more comprehensible. Supposedly, Henry, the abbot of the Cistercian monastery in Sedlec, went to the Holy Land, took soil from Golgotha, and brought it back here, thus making this “holy ground”. Word of his sprinkling over the cemetery spread quickly and Christians from all over wanted to be buried here.

Some visitors immediately recognized the decoration and near glorification of the bones to be quite revolting, but our teacher reminded us that the human body was viewed in an entirely different way during the 14th and 15th centuries. Keeping this in mind during our time in Kutná Hora was helpful and made me appreciate the mindset that came before my own. Preserving and celebrating history is done in an entirely different manner now. I think that viewing this from the perspective of the church as a reminder of the promise of life after death makes commemoration that much sweeter.

The Nocturnalist / June 21, 2019

The clicking of heels on the pavement are a melody that I associate with the purest of loves. Horse carriage rides are yet another tourist attraction that take part in night life here in Prague, but they differ from the rest. At night the city turns into one big party – pubs and bars and clubs galore. Although the heart of the city speaks this truth the loudest, it manages to accommodate more than just the majority crowd. 

A stroll in the streets will guarantee greetings by drunk bachelor parties and puddles of spilled alcohol, but will occasionally bring the alternative of couples, young and old, living in their own little world for the night. Amidst the chaos of the square on a weekend night, I found myself sitting on a curb from exhaustion of the culture. A few minutes passed and I lifted my eyes to see this picture approaching me. 

At first, I saw the instance as a perfect picture opportunity and got my camera set as quickly as possible. But the second that the couple in the back aligned parallel to me, I dropped the camera and just watched. It felt like a crime trying to steal such a fragile celebration. This place, meant for anything but a moment of intimacy, was home to exactly that for a fleeting moment. And as the pair faded into the mayhem of the sunset city before them, the gentle clicking of cobblestone and hoof remained. The tune stood stagnant in the air, overwhelming the laughter and shouts and rush of the crowd. I hope the same melody is a part of my future.

The Nocturnalist / June 20, 2019

Ending up in Old Town Square has become this big joke among the 23 of us – it’s truly inevitable. But no matter how touristy the middle of the city may be, a piece of me always gets a little excited when get to spend a few minutes in it. Chaos must still be composed by an accumulation of detail. Amongst the chaos lay all of the intricate stories that pass through this place.

Instead of trying to fight the current for a shot, I decided to take a moment to just be still and observe. I found beggars, eager children being chased down by their parents, couples on carriage rides, and so much more. Across the street from me sat Elena and her son, Alex. Locals, missing a rather significant piece of their own puzzle, decided to come spend their evening the same as I. The father of the family was gone on business so the pair was on their own for the week. Elena giggled and seemed a bit embarrassed when she admitted her hobby of people watching, but we quickly related on the topic. Talking to her was  so refreshing, hearing the way that she appreciated the insane dynamic of people who grace these cobblestones every day. I assume this is an activity she typically takes part in with her husband, but Alex was a victim for the night.

Gratitude upon gratitude for moments such as this. I don’t think it gets much better than a reassuring conversation with a family who gives nothing but love.

A Thousand Words / June 19, 2019

Terezĺn: a place overwrought with both exhausted and fresh emotion. Too much history to note lies within its boundaries.

Yesterday, our program had the privilege of hearing from Doriz Grozdanovičová, who was only 16 years old when her and her family were sent to Terezĺn concentration camp in 1942. She spoke to us about the conditions and statistics, but also about the ways in which her personal experience differed from many of the other Jews of that time. Her years of shepherding appeared to be the greatest blessing in the grand scheme of things and we got to witness that truth today.

Walking through the halls of the exhibit added weight to each word she had expressed a day prior. This picture was made after our group took a tour through the Small Fortress, the sight which served as the prison of the Prague Gestapo. Here, 32,000 men and women passed through the gates and endured fates of slave labour, poor hygienic care, malnourishment, and death by mass shootings and hangings.

Getting the chance to escape the boundaries of the camp walls was freeing even for me. We were given a few minutes to explore and look for picture opportunities and that’s when I stumbled into this breathtaking frame. Rows and rows of lively roses occupied the space around a towering cross, draped by a crown of thorns. Behind the field was the Star of David, peaking right around the cross and over the colorful petals. This was my favorite part of Terezĺn, not just because it was visually the most appealing, but because it felt less like a reason for mourning and more like an encouragement for celebration. I think that admitting the weight of this tragic part of history is more than necessary, but I also believe that there is so much to celebrate in the learning and honoring process of it all. I think that the Jews and those who worked in their favor would hope to be commemorated for their bravery, not sympathized for because of the harsh conditions and horror that they faced. This little garden of hope did just that.

Location Notations / June 18, 2019

I tend to spend more time observing the guests than the art when it comes to galleries. It’s too fun to guess what everyone’s story is and how they came to love and appreciate art. Taking note of unique outfits and sneaking quick peaks at nestled sketchbooks is one of my favorite games. Last week, Prague had National Museum Night which meant free entry into any museum in the city. Unfortunately, I lost all of my pictures from that night; but luckily, our program went back to the Národní galerie Praha this morning and since I had already seen all of the exhibits, I had the perfect excuse to people watch.

I quickly tip-toed through the familiar rooms and colors, then made my way to the cafe which occupied the majority of my morning. A cup of chai in front of me and a million distractions walking around me, I found myself completely and utterly content. A boy sat next to the floor to ceiling window, curly scarlet locks above, stretched violet and yellow socks below. Young Michael Jackson made multiple appearances in his dancing shoes, twirling and skipping up and down the stairs; his parents sat occupied, longing to leap in between the covers of their novels in hopes that they might return to a time when they practiced the same child-like joy. To my left sat a pair of glued eyes, pencil and paper directly below being the culprit. I could have watched her for hours and she wouldn’t have noticed.

But my favorite character of the morning was certainly this woman. Her spirit was so quiet and gentle, her hands the same in regards to the humility they wore from years of hard work. Over and over she would slip back into the shadows of the kitchen, never emerging without a crafted treat and the softest smile. I never once heard her speak. Maybe this was due to a language barrier, maybe it was because the kindness in her eyes spoke loud enough.