Augusta through a 35mm lens

As is my weekday morning routine, I drag myself out of bed, arguing with the portion of my brain that claims there's no reason to wake up this early, following up with a nice beating to the rebellious subconscious plan of a nap a little later.  Negative, circadian rhythm.  We shall not laze about today.  There is unemployed work to do.  Lots of it.

This week's to-do list is a full page, two columns littered with notes I jotted down in between episodes of Walking Dead on our lazy Sunday.  "Laundry, clean bathroom, e-mail Fort Gordon Public Affairs, look into harassment charges, invest in a shotgun, improve my cardio and base jumping skills... And plan this week's blogposts - One of which being the delivery of the long promised Challenge #2."

Based off of suggestions from a Photofocus podcast (listen here), this challenge is fashioned to improve your relationship with a particular prime lens ("And how does that make you feel?"), as well as challenge (oh, there's that word again!) your capacity to approach subjects from a different perspective.  "Different" is the word that defines photography success.  It's also part of what makes photography so appealing to yours truly.  You have to think differently to be a photographer. You have to analyze from every angle, be hyper-aware of your surroundings, and be intuitive as hell.  Yes, that is a very professional phrase, thank-you.

Anywho, on to the photos.  I spanned the challenge over two days, having been dissatisfied with day one's results.  I started on the marina in Olde Town, Augusta, which, unbeknownst to me when I parked my car, is not exactly the "Cosmo" girl region of the city.  Distracted by the rough-looking surroundings, and cop cars following me around (presumedly to protect me from these rough-looking surroundings?), I can't say I spent much time analyzing.  Which, I guess, is something I need to work on. 

I tried and tried to not stand in the front yard of this monstrous bright purple house to get a good shot of it.  Alas, a 35mm wasn't doing it justice.  The piece of the podcast that said "You're going to think, at some point, 'Man I wish I had that other lens!' Too bad. Suck it up. Figure it out."  Well, I didn't figure it out.  There was a man sitting on a porch behind me, cars passing by honking at me, with it's passengers hanging out the window tossing whistles at me.  So I tried to find the angle for about 15 minutes, and then I moved on.

Was this my warning to get out of Olde Town?

Look closely.  Yes, that's right.  A Bible store next door to a strip club.  The strip club, by the way, had a dozen cars parked in front of it. At 2pm.  On a Tuesday.

Olde Town had a strange build to it - with almost Disneyland reminiscent style to the architecture.

An attempt at a different perspective of the fountain in front of the Augusta Museum.

About a quarter mile from the Augusta Riverwalk is an abandoned train station, where I found this door, I assume the remnants of an engagement shoot.

St. Paul's Church, viewed from corner of Renold's and 6th.  This building was the fourth constructed since the first St. Paul's, the most recent destroyed in Augusta's 1916 fire.

Self-portrait in the festively-decorated window of the Augusta Museum and Information Center.  Apparently the glass is double-paned.

I'll hand it to myself that I did attempt to get a more dramatic shot of an abandoned hotel, but one of my security guards yelled at me over his intercom from the safety of his cab that it was private property.  I didn't see any signage to that, but Matt made the point when I got home that perhaps Mr. Officer was more worried about what was in the hotel ready to jump out and grab me and my $1k equipment.  (Mr. Officer must watch Walking Dead.  And since I have yet to acquire a zombie-proofing shot gun, I suppose I'll have to grant a valuable kudos to Mr. Officer.)

Day 2 of the Challenge, aka the reason I didn't have a blog last Thursday, granted me a couple hours worth of getting lost in downtown Augusta.  Born and raised in the South, I've developed an understanding that roads do not make sense, but Augusta is an entirely different breed.  I have yet to find the true "Downtown Augusta" with the fancy restaurants, corporate offices, and people having coffee in a mini-courtyard in fancy suits.  I have, however, found every "dangerous" part of town possible.  For this reason, I've come accustomed to borrowing the boyfriend's Alma Mater sweatshirt.  Thus invoking the idea that either I myself am quite dangerously badass, or I am romantically involved with someone who owns guns.

Believe it or not, I actually planned to start at the Magnolia Cemetery, a graveyard that buried some of Georgia's oldest families, including a significant portion of Confederate soldiers.

Like all graveyards, it was a touch spooky, but mostly just blanketed with a serene, reflective emotion.

Back in the day, Augusta was a brick-making hub.  The cemetery's sidewalks are lined with the bricks, and, evidently, Augusta is very proud that it was capable of paving it's own sidewalks with locally-made bricks. Or blocks. Whichever.

A handful of plots were marked "Perpetual Care."  I wasn't sure what that meant, but research reveals that, back in the day, a "Perpetual Care" plot was sold at an extra fee, with promise that the establishment would upkeep the lot, meaning the family would not have to return to the plot to keep it tidy.  Nowadays, several states (including Georgia) require that all cemeteries provide some variety of perpetual care.

If your question is "Did her eyes follow you everywhere you went," the answer is yes. Yes, she very creepily stalked me.

 
 

The Monument to the Confederate dead was marked in more than one place that the upkeep for the plot was funded by the Sons of Confederacy Association.  The flags were new, and a few other plots were donned with the flags as well. Personally, (and I hope this doesn't get me in trouble) I'm not a huge fan of the Confederate flag. It comes off as unpatriotic to me.  A state flag is one thing, but a flag that seems to take the place of Old Glory more often than not? Negative.  I'm glad to hear it wasn't the cemetery funding the upkeep and replacement of Confederate flags.  That's my two cents.

The edges of the cemetery was littered with rejected bricks, broken headstones, and piles of leaves.

Bordering the brick walls of the property, barbed wire, and signs threatening prosecution to trespassers cast deep shadows on the headstones inside.  I find it to be a shame that such precautions are necessary.

Moving to Augusta?  Boy, do I have the condo for you!  Directly across the street of the Main Entrance of the cemetery, ivy attacks abandoned buildings. 

I wandered up and down the outskirts, remembering another mid-century foreclosure a block north of the graveyard.  After a run-down truck stopped to offer me a ride, however, I decided to turn back.  In his defense, the man stopped a second time to comment in the West Point hoodie, asking if I was married.  My first thought was "What? A woman can't graduate from West Point? I know a woman who has, you chauvinist pig."  But survival instinct trumped it - "Yes. Yes I am. I'm married to a man. A large man who has guns. Lots of them.... He's also quite vengeful."  Which is only a partial lie.  I am not married to Matt, but he is a 6 foot, broad-shouldered athlete (yummmm), and he does have guns (double yummmm.)  And I doubt he'd be very grateful if someone got blood on his sweatshirt.

"Well thank him for his service.  And thank-you for your sacrifice.  People don't understand what kind of sacrifices families have to make for that kind of life, you know?  People try to take away that culture, that sacrifice, they don't think it means nothing."

Well I'm a jerk.  I thanked him for his appreciation, and I did forward the commentary to Matt later (minus the physical compliments - the boy is not lacking in confidence, he doesn't need it.)  The man told me it was a rough part of town, and apologized if he scared me, he just wanted to let me know that there were still people in the country who appreciate the life military families have to lead.  I thanked him again before I got back in my car and drove on to a different site, a little surprised at the conversation, and, as always, very proud of the fact that I know so many who give so much to our country.  It erased my aggravated attitude after the Confederate Monument, and reminded me to be thankful for the people who realize the sacrifice of those people I love so dearly, and are appreciative of it.



I moved on to a converted Catholic Church, now a center for the historical city fundraising, the Sacred Heart Cultural Center.  Oohing and Aahing at the detail in the building's outer walls, I circled the church a couple times before turning indoors for a tour... by me.  The woman I spoke with in the gift shop handed me a brochure and said "All we ask is that you don't sell your photos. People come in here and take pictures then make a poster and we know nothing of it!"  Well. I guess it is private property now, but at some point, it was a church, known for it's beautiful stainglass windows, so carefully placed to catch light at everytime of day.  But yes, you should keep it to yourself and not let the world see it's beauty.  She didn't follow me, and she didn't say anything about not taking pictures to post on my blog, so I showed myself into the sanctuary and stayed there for nearly an hour.
 
 

Since I was there at roughly 2:30pm, the light wasn't washing the entire sanctuary, but it was washing the Baptistry room.  The brochure says it was once separated from the Sanctuary with large, intricately decorated brass doors (no where in sight), a gift from the Georgia Railroad Bank.  The colors from the purple and gold windows lit the gorgeous font on fire, and I couldn't imagine how beautiful it must of been to have your baby baptised in this room mid-afteroon, washing the child with the "holy waters," as well as what was seen to be the "light of the Lord."  It must have been a stunning sight.

The brochure was a self-guided tour, with this part of the building titled "The Baptistry."  The room is the only one with any artifacts dedicated to the church as it once was - a place of worship.  I'm not a particularly religious person, but I am a very empathic person, and it pained me to see such a beautiful church - once a beloved place of worship - diminished to a tiny room, no bigger than a bathroom, it's historical artifacts crammed into glass display cabinets.

From the Baptistry, approaching the spiral staircase that led up to the Choirloft, I saw the light coming in and hitting this room.  It struck me as so sad, this once honored room, which never would have held a ladder and abandoned clothes rack in it's prime, now empty and forgotten.

The Great Hall and Altars were viewable from the Choirloft, though I had to be careful with the exposure, since the light was being very tricky.

But the church continued to give me a sad, haunted, feeling as I followed my self-guided tour, finding more beauty in it's loneliness than in the directions of my brochure.

Decorated with angels, I wonder if the sanctuary would have sported a Christmas tree when it still welcomed its worshippers for Daily Mass.

The Spiral Staircase leading to the choirloft, and the light pouring into the confessional, where many priests spent countless hours providing advice to the lost.

The dome/skylight, that fed into the Great Hall, right in front of the Altar.  I wondered what it must look like at noon.

I expected to be wowed by the painted windows, but instead, I found the whole experience to be haunting.  I can't imagine what a loss it must have been to Augusta to lose such a beautiful church.

I did, however, learn a great deal from my challenge.  And I'm proud to say that I'm keeping busy, improving myself, and continuing to develop professional goals and maintain journalistic integrity, despite being unemployed.  So this is a message to the world of media: I'm not giving up. So you might as well hire me. Yes, that is a challenge.  Smiley Face.