La Mort En Roses

A few weeks ago, on a very cold but sunny day I decided to take my bike out and see the city. The streets were mostly empty and a heavy layer of salt covered the roads.  Out of Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, I went to Fells Point where I was hoping to find more people out and about, and perhaps take some pictures.

The piers were empty, except for a tugboat of sorts being tested for sound functioning. And then I saw a bouquet of flowers affixed to one of the light posts. Got off my bike, took my camera out and checked out the flowers.

It was in memoriam of Roberto G, who died at the age of 41.

Who was Roberto?

…I felt as an intruder, yet it was a public memorial and on that morning I was the only one there. I did not know Roberto, and the inscription on the wooden heart said nothing more. Was he a street inhabitant of Fells Point as there are many? Did he die at that very spot? Did he like the summer evening open-air concerts in this part of the city?

So, I took a picture feeling that I was taking a picture of Roberto in that street, on that pier. Just that he was not there anymore.

A few days passed and I was wondering about Roberto, the man I never met, yet that I took a picture of when he was not there anymore. I wondered if the flowers were still there, knowing that such displays in public places are not allowed for long. So, back on my bike for finding out.

… It was the first warm day since a while and it seemed like all of Baltimore (and all its dogs) were in the streets. I was tempted to park my car, take my camera and walk around among all these people, but something kept me on that pier, in Fells Point.

It was not the disappearance of the memorial, but all the life that was now around that street light pole and the pier. Roberto was not there, but life was in full bloom.

I therefore sat opposite the light pole and looked around. Then, two ladies came by with their lunch bags and sat near “Roberto’s light post”. As they were enjoying the sun and the sandwiches, I decided to take a picture to remind me that life goes on, but that sometimes strangers like me do take pictures (on film or in their memory) to remind them of those we never meet, the places where they have been, and that somehow, on a cold day, their memory gives meaning to the streets.

Seneca wrote: 

"Dum differtur, vita transcurrit"  translating as: "While it is postponed, life goes on."

R.I.P Roberto.

March 9, 2014

© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014

Pictures taken with a 1973 Olympus OM-1 and a Zuiko 100mm 2.8 lens.