Simple Truths Away From Home

Around Here / June 7, 2019

Pilsen is home to the Pilsner Brewery, a symbol of pride and accomplishment for the Czech people. At first glance, the location seems to be nothing more than dripping cellars and smelly halls that wind through chilly, dark underground hallways. Don’t touch the oozing walls, watch your step for the puddles that once belonged to the ceiling, and prepare to be amazed by the production of a world famous beer.

Prague is notorious for being the home of the Pilsner, which was evident by the amount of tourists both inside and outside of the brewery walls. We stumbled out of the visitor center doors, down the street, and into a quaint little town square. Here, a small festival was taking place, and at each pop-up stand seemed to be a plastic cup filled with the very drink I had just come to know so well. This man, hard at work with the making of his belts, was no exception. His trusty refreshment found shelter beside his tired feet.

Everywhere I go I seem to face the authority that the drinking culture holds over this country. The people are proud and have had the chance to make visitors feel the same way with the Pilsner Urquell tour, one of the world’s best rated tourist attractions.

Weekend Miser / June 6, 2019

I guess I never really thought of a beer garden as the ideal location for a family outing, but the locals and visitors of Prague seem to think otherwise. Strolling down the windy sidewalks whose edge lined lush grasses and wildflowers left me expecting to stumble upon some young couple, drinks in hand and eyes locked on one another. But I found quite the opposite.The scale in variation of people took me by surprise.

The Letná Beer Garden was not a foreign location to this family of locals. Their English was very broken, but I was at least able to understand that they lived in Prague and that this afternoon visit was a very normal occurrence for the bunch. This frame is a testament to all of the generations who hold a special spot in their hearts for this summer time sweet spot. The garden is composed under a grove of towering chestnut trees and overlooks Old Town. A portion flooded by wooden tables and benches neighboring beer stands, both old and new, is separated from the rest of the park. In these other areas, the dynamic of people only widens. I’ve run across families on bicycles and roller blades, elderly couples sipping on fresh lemonade and resting on shady benches, even small parties of young people performing yoga poses. This place offers something for every one of its visitors and comes only at the cost of a drink or two if you so please.

A Thousand Words / June 5, 2019

I sat near the entrance of the last synagogue on our Jewish Museum tour, tired from the long day. A glance to my right was composed of over 20 chatting girls, cameras in hand; a glance to my left followed the timeline of gentle sun rays as they made their way through an elevated window and invaded the creased forehead of this man.

I can’t tell you how many times I hesitated to raise my arms to make the picture and then decided against it. There was just something so powerful yet so gentle about the moment and I knew that no picture would even begin to comprehend. Other segments of our tour consisted of a walk through the Pinkas Synagogue and the Old Jewish Synagogue –  two places that make every step you take heavier and heavier. Scanning walls filled with the over 80,000 names of real people who endured real torture was not a light thing. Realizing that I was walking among individuals who were actually directly affected by this tragedy was even harder to swallow.

Situations such as this really force me to step back and question my motives in photographing these intimate moments. My hope is to one day be able to convey the weight of the moment in this frame. The weight of the walls in the Pinkas Synagogue that hold the history of thousands like you and me. The weight that I felt for only an instant, but one that lingers on the shoulders of many relatives today.

Small Wonder / June 4, 2019

Thankful for the timing and placement of my upbringing today. This morning we visited the Jewish Museum and had the chance to step foot into a room with walls that were swarmed by names of just a few of the victims from the Holocaust. These few minutes were enough to steal the breath from my lips temporarily – actually taking part in the history would have been unbearable.

The moment our tour was over, we grabbed a quick dinner and made our way to the center of Wenceslas Square for what we thought would be a little protest in attempt to have the Prime Minister resign. Little did we know, this demonstration would be the largest in over 30 years, its precedent taking place in the fall of 1989. Protestors simply wanted Mr Barbis to resign after profiting from trust funds and avoiding charges by having the justice minister resign and replaced.

I think the amount of children at the demonstration was the most frightening, but also the most moving component. Sometimes I take for granted the freedoms that I have and the ways which I am able to take a stand that others are not so lucky to share. “Demisi”, or “resign” smeared across this little boy’s face. His actions are gentle and patient, but they are moving mountains.

Location Notations / June 3, 2019

Prague: the city of love or the city of PDA? But seriously, I think every time I’ve stepped foot onto a metro this week I’ve run into a pair of lovers, swimming in one another’s eyes. My family isn’t big on traveling, so my first visit to Europe has been quite the culture shock. Everywhere I look there’s some sort of advertisement for love – well, relationships rather.

I guess I don’t blame them; there’s so much to fall in love with here. Every step I take leaves me so full of content. The city is bursting with color from the pastel walls to the reflection of the golden sun in the windows to the frequent patches of greenery. A flower box on the side of a house left me in absolute astonishment back home, but is nothing more than commonplace on the streets of Prague. It’s refreshing, truly. So for the time invested into the care and upkeep of this little corner of the world, I am thankful.

But still not as much of a fan of the PDA.

Weekend Miser / June 2, 2019

I would like to say that the longer I’m here, the more comfortable I’m getting with a camera. Turns out, it never really gets easier. I’ve just started to pay better attention which, in turn, forces me to face more awkward and uneasy moments such as this. The frame above resembled much of what I drifted from yesterday’s flea market with. But even past those crumbling gates I struggle to avoid bitter looks from strangers in passing.

It has become quite the game, guessing an individual’s reasoning for being camera shy. Today we ran into some missionaries who begged us to keep their shot for no more than personal use, a wash of fear tinting their anxious cheeks. Occasionally a parent will contrive an unusually firm posture – tense shoulders and lifted chest. I sometimes predict it to be a fear of getting caught, sometimes a bit of self-loathing, sometimes I think the locals are just tired of all of us. Whatever the reason, it’s humbling. A camera has been somewhat of an “all-access” pass for me at school during this last semester, but Prague has been a bit more personal. Telling stories is fun, but being mindful of those in the midst of erasing and rewriting their novel is more important. I’m working on it.

Not From These Parts / June 1, 2019

June first was night and day — morning came with a subtle hello from the Czech sun. My classmates and I made our way to a new side of the city for a trip to the flea market. On our tram ride, someone made the sarcastic comment about us being in such a nice area; my hesitant giggle was quickly put to rest by our Professor’s first steps out onto the street. Youthful eyes danced up the walls and down the crooked sidewalks. This was a part of the culture us spoiled kids hadn’t been familiarized with yet. So we take a turn, drop our 20 crown into the gate slots, and walk past expressionless police.

Dennis had said making a good photograph here would be a challenge, and I’ve been put into some pretty uncomfortable situations where a DSLR around my neck was quite the opposite of helpful. My first few paces past a chest of swords and a wooden case of pistols became a remarkable addition to the list. My focus points would take their first spin of the day, illuminating the flashing hand of a grown man attempting to hide his face. I moved on. Next they were greeted by an array of cigarette smoke and tired smiles from a couple surrounded by broken watch faces and worn leather. I moved on. This time, merely to find myself treading lightly in both slight annoyance and slight panic. A man fled the security of his car to gift me with shouts in a language which I could not understand, but a tone which I was all too familiar with. Mom was right – I suppose I’m not all that sneaky.

I walked through my afternoon feeling defeated, but was filled to the brim by a seemingly frozen moment in time on my way home for dinner this evening. Amidst the hustle and bustle of town square, my eye caught a twinkle in the sky. I hurried down the street to be greeted by this sight. How refreshing. The simple arrangement of thin rope and sticks became the source of my greatest joy today. I don’t think the nature of children will ever fail to completely mesmerize me.

A forever question of mine – why do we long for the escape of immaturity but seek to be all that it fabricates? Adulthood is glorified. Success, maturity, prosperity: we are fed this idea from the day we’re born. I think we’ve got it all wrong.

I think the real immaturity is in our failure to recognize the finer things in life. The day we leave our innocence behind is the day that we lose all of the wonderful quirks that we were born with – attributes that make life well, lively. Children are fearless, bold, curious. They lack judgement and forget the pressures of the world. They pursue people and find success in happiness. If this is what immaturity is, I don’t think I ever want to grow up.

Around Here / May 31, 2019

Before walking out the door this morning, I received an email from my photography professor. In the subject line was Roma Khamoro Festival parade, Prague, Czech Republic May 2011 & 2017. I found the power button to the right of my screen, shoved my phone into my bag, and told myself that I didn’t have the time to sit down and read the article right now – big mistake.

My first steps off the tram and out of from underneath the streets made my feet feel like cinderblocks; I was beyond thrilled to have a fun parade scheduled into my day, but didn’t have quite the same feelings toward the crowds I expected to be pushing through for a quality photograph. As starting time drifted closer and closer, the crowds seemed to swell a bit, but mostly just consisted of confused tourists and members of the parade itself. The day that I anticipated pictured a city turned upside down in celebration. The day that I walked into was short, a little confusing, and quite frankly, anticlimactic.

Upon arriving home this afternoon, I began to scroll through pictures searching for a story to tell and realizing how clueless I was about my picture subjects. A new tab was opened, an old article read, and a world of embarrassment unveiled. This festival is in honor of the Romani, a people group of the Czech Republic now composing only 2-3% of the population. My hopes of a lavish parade were not without reason; the day used to be just that nearly twenty years ago, with an abundance of world participants, dancing, and music, but funds have dwindled and locals are all that remain.

I had made a mental note about the crowds being flooded by temporary visitors with iPhone cameras; this is due to the immense, heavy discrimination that takes place toward the Romas to this day. Prejudice has been addressed and combatted in many parts of the world, but the Czechs are repeating history and continuing to isolate their biggest minority by segregation and unfair education policy.

Even so, the shoulders of the Romas were lifted today. I walked alongside a woman whose strength was exuded by her smile alone. I stood among a group of men with talent beyond compare – weaving together melodies of acoustics from guitar strings and vocals. I laughed beside a young girl, losing herself in a song, twirling and twirling and twirling.

Today I had the honor of photographing a people. A people with strength. A people with joy. A people with life.

A Thousand Words / May 30, 2019

My first day roaming the streets of Prague felt uncomfortably familiar. I was raised in a very small town where everyone took care of everyone. The only time I ever got a little taste of what true poverty looked like was on very special occasion when my family would make the long haul into the city, and even then, homelessness was the opposite of prevalent. My first day at college in Austin, Texas was a total slap in the face and, of course, I gave money to the first man I saw on Guadalupe and, of course, I became a target for the next few weeks. I was so embarrassed about being completely oblivious to the extensive amount of homelessness in the world. But what did I do? I continued to make the walk down Guadalupe to class everyday, I continued to feel like I needed to do something to help, and despite all of that, I continued to make the walk nearly everyday directly out of that bubble of guilt past a homeless man and into a coffee shop for my $5 latte.

Walking the streets of this city stirred my heart and laid that heavy feeling on my shoulders in no time. There I was, strolling through the square on my fancy trip with my fancy camera looking for a story to tell; why has it taken me so long to realize that there’s a story in desperate need of sharing right outside my own front door?

Noticed / May 30, 2019

To be honest, I walked into this trip almost completely blind to the truth of the Czech Culture. Stepping onto the plane leaving America was refreshing to say the least – I was excited to be in a new place with new rules and new social cues. Unfortunately, it took no time for me to realize how absolutely blind I’ve become to the reality that absurd beauty standards do, in fact, exist outside of my own little world.

Fashion is a much larger part of daily life in Prague than I expected. A typical slab of concrete running parallel to the road takes on the role of a catwalk; high-end boutiques line the streets of every square alongside their eager models. Don’t get me wrong, I adore clothes and personal style as much as the next girl, but I just sort of hoped to have a month spent entirely immersed in the Czech culture and all the while sat completely ignorant to the standards and social rules that tag along with any society. Girls waltz the streets, posing for the ideal frame in an Instagram square crop, ordering the three scoop cone for the boomerang and then only eating one, dropping money on name brands for the sake of dropping money on name brands. I’m so guilty of being a girl – of being a consumer.

A huge goal of mine for the year is to be far more conscious of where I’m investing my time and money. The fashion world is fun, the social media world is fun, but fulfillment by people and experience? That’s something that will never cease to leave my cup overflowing. The whole world is playing the game and I’m thankful that this place helped me realize that it’s not for me.