Taken a few years ago at a photography workshop in upstate New York, this photo struck me as a theatrical set with a mood reminiscent of an Edward Hopper painting. The light, shadows, palette and even the message: “Exit” is haunting. In today’s quasi-Kafkaesque world it resonates even more.

Coping with “reality” these days can feel overwhelming. Like myself, most of us would prefer to simply look away from the specter of a post January 20, 2025 world bordering on a dystopic novel by Margaret Atwood. In fact, I recently saw her interviewed in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico by Martin Fletcher, a renowned NBC correspondent for many decades.

The title of the talk? “From Fiction to Reality: Has Our Dystopian Future Arrived?” It was sold-out.

 

San Miguel de allende outdoor market at night

 

Hotel in real de catorce, a former mining town turned ghost town in mexico

While digging up this photograph above taken in 2017 in Real de Catorce, Mexico, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the recent horrific Southern California fires. I don’t know the history of this hotel above. All I know is that the town, on Huichol land where peyote is collected and pilgrimages take place, was once a prosperous mining town, turned ghost town.

The contrast above between the hollowed out windows, rusty metal balconies contrasted by a brand-new looking white sign and a glowing blue sky is haunting. I can’t imagine going there on a full moon night…

Witnessing recent devastating floods and fires, the threats to democracy assaulted by lies, propaganda, big-time money, the pardoning of 1500 January 6th insurrectionists, punitive retributions, massive deportations, attempts to repeal birthright citizenship, not to mention the possible dismantling of institutions such as the EPA, the HHS and FEMA and, as I write this, the USAID is unfathomable.

We can’t survive however without light. Certainly photography requires it: darkness versus light. Perhaps we need to consider a way to survive in “Hopeful pessimism” as a writer recently put it. Another healing perspective involves nature finding its way into stone walls, stucco, cement and even shards of glass. Such phenomena, where plants establish themselves in an unexpected, even hostile environment, continues to bring a smile to my face.

 

Santa Anna church

 
 

An inspiration for this piece came from walking by bright blue morning glories and a cactus surrounded by plastic, barbed wire and glass:

Below, we have light entering a church. For me, rays of light from the sun or an electric bulb, be it in a room with exit signs or a church, provides a sense of groundedness, even as our ground may be slipping away. And, we still have roots no matter where. (If I were an immigrant soon without a home I probably wouldn’t agree.)

Late afternoon light in a queretaro, mexico church