I was inspired by Christopher Holt’s recent post to speak about my photographic obsession with alleys. When I was younger, my sister and I used to do what we called “photo adventures.” We’d choose somewhere to go and then take pictures of whatever we found interesting there. A quality of randomness accompanied these occasions, as did an openness to experience that I have also learned about through my meditation practice. I do not recall ever deliberately choosing an alley to go photograph with her, but I do think the spirit of these trips bled into what I have been doing in alleys over the past few years.
Sometimes on foot, and sometimes by bicycle, I take part of a day off and enter the landscape of alleys. Things primarily of cities and towns, alleys are markers of space, as well as of time. When in an alley, you are almost in limbo, standing between designated areas of inhabitation. Those who drive through them must slow down, or risk being injured. Those who walk through them sometimes must speed up, or risk being assaulted by all sorts of foul smells and sights.
Alleys are the storehouses of all that we wish to hide, forget, or diminish. They contain our former longings, reminding us that all that cleanliness we have achieved in our houses and yards is partial. Most of us don’t really care at all about alleys, except when we need them most — and even then, the relationship is no better than that of a housekeeper and a wealthy estate owner.
Over the years, it has become painfully obvious how alleys are direct reflections of our relationship with the natural world. They are filled with distressed animals scampering and scavenging. The seemingly endless amount of trash speaks to our most human ability to both create and discard. And the surface of the alley is itself a reminder of the utilitarian mindset we often have towards the earth.
Still, there is beauty to be found along these back paths, just as there is a kind of gold hidden in anything we have decided isn’t worthy of being loved. You have to slow down though, or it’s all too easy to miss.
The older I get, the more I value humor. In an often deeply challenging world, filled with violence, carelessness, and suffering, humor is a balm that can break though the worst of situations. And every alley has the potential to be a venerable river of humor, containing such gems as the one above.
Being human ultimately seems to mean having to navigate alone a world that is completely interconnected. We cannot escape the framework we live in, and yet each of has to choose, act, and breathe on our own. In some ways, alleys are a much better reference point for us than any pristine road, crusty landfill, or even the place we call frequently call home.
In alleys, just as in life, you find it all. From the dirtiest, smelliest pile of trash to the most perfect, solitary fallen leaf, it’s there in our alleys, just waiting to be seen.
Photo Credits
All photos by Nathan Thompson
It is interesting that my house doesn’t have an alley. No transitional space between the houses. So the boundaries get blurred and the placement of plants is questioned.
Ah, yes, Chris – good point!
I suppose one must also look to the alleys within and see what’s there.
I’ll never look at alleys the same way again. Thanks for this.