Fort McHenry in Baltimore, Maryland, is the perfect place for waking dogs, enjoying the ocean breeze, watching sailboats catch the wind, and to let light pass through old lenses.
But Fort McHenry is also a very special place for learning history and even culture, because of its role in the War of 1812. Indeed, this fort defended the Baltimore Harbor from an attack by the British navy September 13-14, 1814. While this military history marked a crucial moment during that war, the legacy of Fort McHenry is also cultural as it was during the British bombardment of the fort that Francis Scott Key wrote “The Star-Spangled Banner” the poem that became the national anthem of the United States.
During World War I, more that hundred buildings were built on the land surrounding the fort and the entire facility was converted into an enormous U.S. Army hospital for the treatment of troops returning from the European conflict. Today, it is a peaceful park where the ocean breeze makes the balmy summers almost pleasant.
The military ships, all steel and enormously large define the skyline of the East Harbor seen from the fort’s grounds. I did not wait long for a smaller boat to pass by the big ships for a picture showing the true size of the ships. I would have liked a few clouds as background, but was happy with the cool breeze. So was my dog!
I wanted a human perspective of the moment, and a couple practicing the art of dolce far niente gave the needed softness to the harsh steel of the ships.
My old lens was focusing smoothly, as it did 50 years ago. So, wanted to capture the wind and a sailboat over small waves was the answer. The bridge as a background and a transatlantic ship lazily enjoying the Sunday at large gave me the feel of the openness one experiences when at Fort McHenry.
But to a street photographer, a picture taking session without people around just does not make for a good outing. At the bend, I saw a woman and her easel. She was facing the open ocean and the ships. A perfect line of sight for a maritime painting, I thought.
As I walked toward her, she moved just enough for me to see the canvas. I was still about 100 yards away and could not see what she was painting. But my telephoto lens could. So, as I put the camera to my face to take a picture, I saw what she was painting:
A portrait of a gypsy woman!!
I walked past her, went to sit under the shade of a tree to let my dog cool down, and could not wonder thinking about the painter. Why would one sit by the ocean, look at the ships and the bridge, but paint the portrait of a gypsy woman? Perhaps she was there for the breeze only, and the ocean meant nothing to her. Perhaps she just wanted to catch a few rays while painting.
And then, I understood: she was like me—no matter where we are, no matter what surrounds us, we end up capturing the portrait of a person on canvas or on film!
And this street photographer took a picture of a street painter as we both faced the open ocean, large ships, sailboats, and the history of the 1814 British navy attack on Baltimore....
I knew I could trust my 50 year old lens.
June 9, 2014
© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014
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