The magazine of the art-form of the photo-essay
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Stephen Fry. British actor, writer and film & documentary maker
April 2015 back issue
by Robert Herman
Whenever I am driven into an unfamiliar city, I consider it a special luxury. As a traveler as well as a photographer, I
am free to look at whatever catches my eye and to revel in the sense of wonder I feel when seeing something new and
unknown. Occasionally, the fatigue and discomfort that goes hand in hand with a long airplane flight will get the better
of me, and yet I try not to take this unique moment for granted. As I always say, “You can only see something for the
first time once.”
Entering Cartagena for the first time, as the old walled city began to appear in the distance, something strange and
mysterious began to overtake me. I was not in Cartagena, a city by the sea on the northwest coast of Columbia.
Suddenly I was in a “Cartagena” of my waking dream. It was a dream that I would not awaken from until two weeks
after returning to New York.
I was seized with excitement, desperate to exit the car and be free to absorb every texture and color falling onto the
walls and buildings, all extraordinarily illuminated by the blazing, midday South American sun. As the driver turned
onto the tiny streets and into a seemingly endless traffic jams, which caused all of us passengers to become
overheated and impatient to arrive at the hotel. I realized I could use this interminable delay to my advantage. Sitting
in the front passenger seat as the car crept along, I began to take pictures with the only camera accessible to me: the
one in my iPhone. As the car slowly wound through the streets, I knew that at least some of the pictures would be of
use to me.
Compelled to turn my head from side to side, afraid of missing something and straining to see through the driver's
window, I glimpsed an inkling of an image that was already receding behind me. I was filled with regret and longing,
and made a vow to myself that I would search for it and not stop until I located it. Of course, on my journey to this
"hypothetical destination," I couldn't resist responding to everything I saw in the best way I know how: by making
photographs.
A day or two later, by persistence, instinct, and memory I found what I was looking for. I wanted more than just a
snapshot or a souvenir; I wanted to make a Photograph. There, I made many pictures until I was satisfied and I hoped
that I had made something worthy of my chosen subject. Almost a year later, when asked to write this essay, it
occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, my subject had chosen me.
– Robert Herman, February 2013
