In the Past, In the Future

Ever since 2005 I have passed by this building and counted myself lucky.

Never more so than today.

A Little Serenity

We can all use a little serenity. I found a bit of my own looking up that this balcony.

I hope you'll find some too.

Above and Beyond

I really love this building. It's so ornate. And for what? Not for any practical reason, no. It's ornate because that is what it is. Nothing less, and nothing else.

And I really would love to see that scalloped whatever-it-is cresting the building, that neat looking though half-destroyed bit of decorative delight, I'd love to see that more often.

All Day

I like this place.

I could stay here all day.

Not Quite Perfect

It's a simple day, just right for a simple shot of not-quite-perfect symmetry.

I hope you're enjoying the weekend.

Abandon

I'm afraid this place must be abandoned, forgotten. It's falling apart, of course. Plants growing up between the stones aren't a good sign.

The general state of the place is a shame because there are such amazing details here, the carvings around the door and the shaped window openings, the delightful balustrade too.

So what do you make of the jeans? Were they abandoned as well? They could have been. Or, maybe they're just hung up to dry and the place hasn't been forgotten after all.

Hopeless Romance

Life is full of little surprises . . .

. . . like the hopeless romance of a stranger's balcony.

Love

Can't help it. Look at that enormous lump of green. So many types of leafy what-not piled up, going in all directions, looking gorgeous.

style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; It's the variety that I love, that so many shapes and shades are layered together along the path ahead. Beirut keeps its pockets of green pretty well hidden, and it doesn't have nearly enough of them, but it does the green it's got really, really well.

Happy Valentine's Day, Beirut.

Nobody's Favorite

I don't like air conditioners, particularly these. They're in the way. That balcony is small enough without sacrificing space to AC units.

And you know what they remind me of? They remind me of Hal, from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Hal's nobody's favorite character, especially once he starts to malfunction.

Just about the only thing I remember about Hal is that he apologized a lot in his predictably uninflected AI voice. And in the end, he lost.

Now that I think of it, I'd love to get an apology from my AC unit. We could start with "I'm sorry for operating inefficiently". "I'm sorry for being so noisy". "I'm sorry about that time I broke down last summer". And we'd finish up with "I'm sorry for being appallingly ugly on the side of a beautiful building".

But, just like Hal, the AC's apologies are empty, meaningless, and it will carry on just as before.

Jasmine

Nothing like a huge tumble of Jasmine spilling over a wall to give an otherwise normal building that extra special something that might just pass for magic.

My daily route used to take me past a huge jasmine plant like this one. Whenever I had time, I stopped under it and took a few deep breaths.

I loved that.

Greener

I like finding little patches of green in the city. Winter is the best time for that in Beirut. The rain helps.

It's a holiday today, so school's out and we're having one of those run-away family days.

To You, To Me

I took these pictures in Achrafieh. The building is just down the street from where I once lived. That seems like a lifetime ago.

See the face at the base of this baroque-looking over-the-door ornamentation? What does it say to you? Is that a look of serenity? Haughtiness? Contemplation, introspection, placidity, indifference? Is this a wise, knowing face? Or is it the face of innocence, youthful ignorant bliss?

For years the world has gone by, literally under the nose of this funny little face. I can't help wondering what I'd look like if I'd been up above a door for as many years, what sort of expression I'd have on my face.

And what would it be like to go through this door every day? A lifetime of coming and going, arriving and departing, alone or with friends and family. What effect would it have to pass beneath that face over and over again?

Somewhat Unusual

Reddish wall, green doors and plants. And textures, textures everywhere. I like how the white is really clean looking, bright and unbroken.

The squarish design in the iron balustrade is somewhat unusual in Beirut, which makes it all the more interesting to me.

To Read

I should read photos the way other people read palms. I'd look at the lines, study the wrinkles and recesses. Feel the texture, consider the pliability and color of it.

I wouldn't forget proportion or scale or relative flatness or roundness. I'd read that photo carefully, slowly, looking for signs and warnings, ominous forbiddings and hopeful protections.

And after contemplating it long enough, I'd tell you exactly what it means.

With This Place

So many houses, so many lives, so many stories.

All of them here together, all of them of a piece with this place.

Sunny Picture, Rainy Day

It's cold and rainy out. Not a very nice day to go looking for a picture. Instead, here's one from yesterday, a day that was clear and sunny.

Maybe when the sun comes out again I'll post a picture of the rain.

Rain, Rain

It's rainy, rainy, rainy lately. But before the rain started, I was out with my camera, looking for the usual suspects.

And you know, if you're looking for something that's what you'll probably find.

Can't Decide

Looking at this entryway, I feel conflicted. I'm not quite sure what it's telling me. Perhaps it's that it has seen better days.

Or, maybe it's saying that the best yet to come.

It could be both, though it takes a little effort to marry those ideas.

Zoom In, Zoom Out

Zoom in. Focus on one small piece

of a bigger picture. Zoom out


to see where it belongs.

The Thing about Doors

Open doors: figuratively associated with possibility and opportunity--tied to the future. Literally, they appear welcoming, friendly. Open doors beckon.  They imply trust and connectedness.

Closed doors: quite the oposite. Figuratively they represent rejected possibilities, options that have become unavailable--tied to the past. Literally, closed doors can appear aloof and impersonal, possibly even forbidding.  They exhude division, reinforcing distinctions of in vs. out, public vs. private.

Doors do it all.  Sometimes open, sometimes closed.  Welcoming here, forbidding there.  Allowing this but prohibiting that.  And always the possibility of change, that a closed door will one day open or an open door swing difinitively shut. 

Interesting, that doors can do so very much.