DARIN HAYTON

Tag: Ruins

  • Two Years

    Two Years

    I returned to a place I’ve visited before — remnants of an old corral quite literally just off the beaten path. While not particularly remote, it does require driving down a bumpy, dusty road and hiking an hour or so across a shadeless cross-country route. The time and physical exertion required would, I thought, limit the traffic, and the general “take only photographs and leave only footprints” attitude shared, I had hoped, by hikers and campers would limit damage.

    Landscape #200513. A black and white photograph of old corral posts and weeds.
    Landscape #200513

    In two years, however, the beaten path has spread to include the old corral. For most people, there’s little reason to linger by this corral. It is not their destination and not really on the way. Yet clearly lots of people do wander over to it. So many that the vegetation no longer grows as it used to. And in addition to any photographs visitors have taken, somebody also seems to have taken one of the old corral posts.

    Landscape #220513. A black and white photograph of old corral posts and fewer weeds.
    Landscape #220513

    I stood in roughly the same spot when I took these photos, exactly two years apart. Whatever else photographs do, they can make visible the passage of time and our deleterious effects on ourselves and the world around us.

  • A Path Well Traveled

    A Path Well Traveled

    I’ve been this way before. I know where this path leads. But as with each visit, something is different this time. The path is both familiar and foreign, reshaped each season by the forces of nature and the other people who have come this way. While I have found solitude for the moment, the footprints in the gravel remind me that I am far from alone. These remote spaces are haunted by the countless people who have passed through them before, leaving traces of their passing. Petroglyphs, moqui steps, and ruins of structures in alcoves high up on cliff faces — people have been wandering these places for centuries. Far from remote, these canyons and plateaus were home.

    Landscape #220512.1. A black and white photograph of the narrows in a canyon.
    Landscape #220512.1

    The remnants of our occupation and exploitation are easy to find. Some ancient. Some quite recent. Most now inscrutable — what does “6R” mean and why was it important to carve “6R” into the rock, I wonder.

    Landscape #220513.1. A black and white photo of an old corral post against a sandstone cliff.
    Landscape #220513.1

    I have been this way before, following behind untold numbers of other people. Although empty each time I pass, the path is well traveled. But this time, something is different. Next time, too, something will be different. Heraclitus’ comments are as applicable to sand and stone as they are to rivers.

  • A New Postcard

    A New Postcard

    A bit late this month, but a new postcard is now available. Wandering around the ruins of Clifden Castle, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly our feeble efforts at permanence decline into ruin. It was a reminder to enjoy the evening, the breeze coming off the bay, the smell of early spring. These moments are all we have. I was fortunate to add them to my “Museum of This I Experienced.”

    Postcard for April 2022: Black and White photo of a ruined castle.
  • Photographic Legacy

    Photographic Legacy

    John D’Arcy was a wealthy landowner who built this castle ca. 1818, just outside the town he founded. He and his family lived in it for about twenty years. After he died, his son inherited the castle and lived there until the family went bankrupt about a decade later. New owners. Renovations. Yet more new owners. Yet more renovations. Finally, decline and ruin. Now, 200 years later, only the shell still stands looking out over the land and the bay.

    Urban #220329.1. Black and white photo of the back of Clifden Castle.
    Urban #220329.1

    The original construction was mediocre, lots of rubble and junk, rough-hewn stone stacked up into walls that were then covered with plaster. Remnants of decoration, also made from cement or plaster, cling to the walls, as does the ivy. Inside little remains besides dirt floors and piles of fallen stone. Trees and plants grow where floors used to be, and graffiti cover many walls.

    Urban #220329.2. Black and white photo of the back of Clifden Castle.
    Urban #220329.2

    The ruin also stands as a reminder that not long after we go our carefully assembled collection of photographs and photographic equipment will fall into disuse and disrepair. How many photographs and slides lie in boxes in closets, attics, storage units? How many cameras, both expensive and cheap that took hundreds of precious photos, mold in basements? Families no longer gather around to watch slide shows from last summer’s family vacation. Few people pull albums from shelves to thumb through the pages of photographs.

    Urban #220329.3. Black and white photo of the back of Clifden Castle.
    Urban #220329.3

    With recent moves to digital photography and the near refusal to print images, how much easier will it be for the next generation to discard our photographs and cameras? Hard drives full of images will fail before too long, 4 to 5 years for mechanical drives. Cameras will break. They’ll be recycled or thrown away at e-waste events. We think we have this impressive collections, but like D’Arcy’s castle they are little more than a pretty façade.