The Color of Love

This image is from one of my absolutely favorite places in Venice -- which is to say, it's not really Venice at all, but a little island off the coast of Venice, called Burano.

And in fact, the reason I decided, several years ago, that the ONE PLACE IN THE WORLD I had to see before I die was Venice can all be traced to a photograph I saw in a friend's album of her own trip to Venice. I was unmoved by all the traditional shots -- the canals, the gondoliers, the bridges, the glorious architecture, the piazzas and palazzos -- but when I caught sight of this multi-hued village I was enchanted, and made a vow to go.

I've now been twice to Burano -- once with each daughter -- and each time the daughter was ready to leave long before I had even begun to drink my fill of the glorious colors there. For me, addicted to color as I am, Burano is like a taste of Heaven; a dream come true; the delicious beginning of a love affair or a perfect Italian meal. I barely even see all the storekeepers hawking their lace -- except for the one or two stores that show their wares arranged by color -- because I am so thrilled by the striped awnings, the bright hues of laundry, the hand-painted boats, and the little icons that nestle in hidden niches everywhere.

What's interesting is that I don't believe I've ever sold any of my Burano pictures, except this one, which a friend requested. In the Bainbridge gallery where I sell most of my work there's a wall of small photos of windows and doorways, many of which come from Burano, and they apparently sell like hotcakes -- but I didn't shoot them! So why is that?

I'm thinking it's almost like a pair of young lovers, so caught up in each other that everyone else is excluded. My images of Burano have all been taken in the early phase of our relationship, and are almost embarrassingly caught up in mutual self-discovery. I am worshiping at the altar of her colors, totally absorbed in her beauty, and everything which seems miraculous and new to me seems trite and hackneyed to the outside observer. There is no room for another presence in our relationship, and so the divine spirit that speaks through and permeates the best of my work has no presence here; the images are totally self-absorbed. Even I don't spend much time looking at them; they are almost embarrassingly lush and unfocused.

Those images which DO work for me tend to be much more austere and restrained. I usually know as I'm shooting that there is something miraculous taking place, and there is a definite awareness of the Other, a component of awe and wonder intrinsic to the particular moment that has little to do with the Obvious and everything to do with being grounded in earth, water, air and sky and fully aware of the transitory nature of light.

There's a book that came out back in the late eighties called "Do What You Love, the Money Will Follow." I remember liking the premise -- that if you follow your passion, the rewards of your career will be greater -- but I'm thinking now that the real key is not to DO what you love, but rather to ALIGN yourself with Love, so that you become a clear channel through which love can flow uninterrupted.

And much as I love Burano and hope to go back some day, I know the thrill of all that color pales in comparison to that serene sensation of being wholly aligned with the passion of the universe for itself.