sam-vargas

[sam-vargas]

Photography and Flash Fiction

Photography is the capture of a moment in time. One scene, one instance, one story. In one photograph, a photographer can tell an engaging story, without words, simply by knowing how to use lighting, scene, and exposure to create a mood. A skilled photographer uses the tools at their disposal to manipulate the images they have created to manipulate the emotions of the viewer. Gregory Crewdson is one example of such a photographer. He creates intricate scenes, each telling a different story. Each story is radically different from the other, and each presents its own uniqueness, its own individuality. Crewdson sets up every shot, tweaking each small detail as time progresses, to the point of perfection. He organizes the props in the shot, the people, and the environment (as much as it will allow). The shots are choreographed in such a way that draws the viewer in closer, forcing them to look at each and every detail. Crewdson knows how to interest his audience, and make them think about the images they are viewing. His father had been a psychoanalyst, and as one of Crewdson’s primary influences, he tried to listen in on his sessions with his patients. It was because of that experience that he was able to tap into the human mind, and manipulate the emotions there. 

On the sets of his photographs, there are a number of workers functioning as different parts of a system working toward the goal of creating the perfect image. Before the actual shoot takes place, Crewdson has a story in mind, and he has created a mental map of the scene. Once the shoot begins, there are those in charge of lighting, of ensuring that the ambiance of the image stays true to Crewdson’s vision. There are police officers and firefighters, depending on the content of the scene and the location, who control and direct traffic, and control fire and hoses, respectively. Then there are the crew members who instruct the crew members to change positions so as to make the image perfect. After the shoot, when they have the images and they have them set up in the editing programs, they splice the images together, taking the best parts of each image to create the perfect final image. 

In the same way, flash fiction mirrors photography. Writers are attempting to capture a single moment, a single scene in 1000 or so words. They have to pick and choose what they decide to show the readers, and what they want to tell. What details are important to the overall mood and theme of the piece, and which ones are non-vital. It’s a balancing act, one that many writers struggle to maintain. Where flash fiction differs from photography, is that photography is inherently showing. Its nature is to be seen, and there is no need for flowery wording to describe to the audience the scene. However, all writers have are words. Not that it can stop them, after all, words are adaptable. They change to fit the needs of the writer. A skilled writer can influence the emotions of the viewer in the same way a photographer can. They can influence the way the reader views their characters, and they can create an image for the reader. Writers can establish vivid scenes for their audience simply by stringing together a series of words, using the five senses and painting a picture for them. Of course, there are things the writer must leave up to the imagination, whether due to the limited word count, or the mere fact that the detail holds no relevance to the meaning of the story as a whole. 

Of course, there are obvious differences between the two. As mentioned earlier, photography does not struggle to show the viewer, thanks to the inherent visual nature of photography. However, there are instances where a writer must tell their audience something, and that is where photography can lose ground against flash fiction. Photography can be left to interpretation, whereas a writer can, at the very least, choose to tell the reader what the story is about. Another aspect of flash fiction that varies from photography is that photography is a single moment, a single second. One can assume what is done in the moments before the photo is taken, and the viewer can assume what is done in the moments after, but the viewer cannot know for certain. In flash fiction, yes, it is one scene, but the writer is given more liberties in what is happening in the scene, in the amount of time that is passing. 

[sam-vargas]

Winter Park, FL

(Written in 2018)

Clear skies, hot summers and cool winters with sporadic days of extreme chill (from a Floridian’s perspective), a lively population of college kids year round, and snowbirds in the winter, Winter Park, Florida is a treasure trove of culture and life located in the outer suburbs of the greater Orlando area. Within 20 minutes of Orlando’s epicenter, Winter Park puts residents within reasonable driving distance of the city and its parks, as well as hosting its own attractions for tourists and natives. Two of Winter Park’s biggest colleges sit on the same, aptly named road of university a mere 11 minutes away from one another: Full Sail University and University of Central Florida.

Apartment complexes in the immediate area surrounding and between the two welcome students from both schools with signs before the gates at the beginning of the traditional school year. Full Sail students attend year round, with new classes starting and graduating each month. This makes for a steady cycle of new and old. UCF brings students in on a more traditional basis, but houses students in dorms during their first year. This makes for a culture known to many college towns, one of busy weekends spent partying at night, and weekdays spent cramming for assignments and projects, exams and lectures. 

Winter Park has adapted well to its combined populus of snowbirds and college students by creating beautiful parks with vibrant gardens and river views. There are museums of art, movie theaters (the Enzian in particular home to the Florida Film Festival). An excellent opportunity for any local filmmakers: student or otherwise, and an array of shopping centers, malls, and restaurants. Park Avenue is a thriving line of shops and restaurants operating next to a park housing both gardens, fountains, and the amtrak station. Foot traffic, as well as car traffic, here during the weekends is brutal, but certainly worth the wait. 

Up a ways and over from Park Avenue is Winter Park Village. Another epicenter of shops, restaurants, and a movie theater, with just as much foot traffic, but much more parking. Here one can find a wide selection of both chain restaurants such as Cheesecake Factory, and independently owned restaurants such as the Firefly Kitchen & Bar. 

The Regal Cinema is a hotspot on weekends, especially with new arrivals and openings. It provides a comfortable viewing experience with plush leather recliners, and a generous concessions counter at the front of the theater. The Village is also home to a grocery store, a music store, and salons. 

Just outside of Winter Park is Maitland. This is where visitors can find the Art & History Museum, the Enzian, and Lake Lily Park. The Art & History Museum offers tours of the facility which includes an indoor gallery, and outdoor structures that have been restored. The work displayed on the campus belongs to residents of the museum who spend their days experimenting and producing work on behalf of the museum. 

The Enzian is a small theater with a very unique atmosphere. It resembles a dinner theater with its own bar and restaurant situated just outside. Menus are offered at the start of each showing, placed before patrons on tables. This theater is popular for its seasonal special features. Last year, I attended a Halloween special feature of The Devil’s Rejects, and greatly enjoyed myself. Later, I wanted to attend the theater’s showing of Idiocracy during the elections, but ultimately missed the event. I heard stories from friends of mine about one particular showing of The Room (for those unaware, the movie The Disaster Artist was based on, and widely viewed as the worst movie ever) was the most lively of its kind, with people laughing at the worst parts and quoting lines out loud before they were spoken. Overall, drinks and a good time were had by all. 

Finally, Lake Lily Park. Not only is this park beautiful with white painted pavilions, a bridge over the lake, and its population of water birds, but the park is also home to a farmers market. Taking place on the weekends, the market hosts a wide variety of local vendors selling products ranging from organic coffee beans to soaps made with essential oils. This event is wildly popular, which can make finding a parking space in the confined space a challenge. Still, people cycle in and out pretty quickly, so finding a parking space is merely a matter of planning your time wisely. 

Now, as mentioned earlier, the heart of Orlando is located a mere 20 minutes away from Winter Park. This makes downtown Orlando a popular spot for those interested in any of the numerous events taking place in the city. In downtown Orlando, you can find any number of events and festivals taking place throughout the year. From art festivals to concerts, plays and musicals, Orlando has you covered. 

Orlando is also home to a number of resorts and parks, property of Disney, Sea World, and more. For those looking to get out for a day free of charge, Disney Springs, known as Downtown Disney before its renovation, is the place to be. The park is home to a large number of Disney property shops such as the Marvel, Star Wars, and Disney stores. Restaurants are also in high supply, ranging anywhere from a casual sit in and dine, to a fancy meal on the water in a riverboat. Last but not least, you can’t throw a rock without hitting a pub, and, because the park is privately owned property, your drinks can travel with you (so long as you remain within the park while your glass is filled). 

For more seasonal visitors or locals, the parks are a popular attraction. Most tourists are known to make trips on long holidays, which gives local or nearby season pass holders an opportunity to visit the parks during lower traffic seasons. All Disney parks are located within a near immediate vicinity to one another, with buses carrying patrons from one park gate to another at their discretion. Epcot, Magic Kingdom, Hollywood Studios, and more are just a short ride away. 

But Disney, while a more popular option amongst park goers, is not the only attraction Orlando has to offer. Both SeaWorld and Universal Studios are well within driving distance of Winter Park. SeaWorld, for those with more aquatic, and possibly even scientific and educational tastes, and Universal for thrill seekers. 

Universal is probably most popular for its Halloween Horror Nights events. However, popular can be a bit of an understatement. The park can sometimes become so crowded with people that some will give up entering lines and instead wander the streets with the hired actors, gnawing on a turkey leg. I attended Halloween Horror Nights the first year of The Walking Dead attraction. At the time, I didn’t know this, but I was soon to discover it as we came upon the advertised house. The line was long and winding, leaking past even the gates delineating the beginning of the line. I had spent anywhere from 20 minutes to an hour waiting in line for some of the other attractions. However, I spent close to 2 hours and 30 minutes in the line for The Walking Dead. Needless to say, that house, I only visited once. 

Beyond Halloween Horror Nights, the park is well managed, and lines are nowhere near as long at a 2 hour wait. The rollercoasters are fast, and get the blood pumping. However, Universal also has shows, shopping, and experiences. Perhaps one of the most famous experiences the park has to offer is the Harry Potter World attraction (now with Diagon Alley!). Here, you yourself can become a wizard, with shops where you can prepare for your trip to Hogwarts. Buy yourself a wand and robe, and grab yourself a cup of butterbeer to immerse yourself in the experience. 

In the end, there are few cons to living in Winter Park. You’re far enough from Orlando that you avoid the heavy tourism during summer months, but close enough to visit on the off season. Due to the city’s mismatched population of snowbirds and college students, recreation is plenty, and of relatively reasonable cost. The area is well maintained, and home value is high in areas close to or by the lakes and rivers. Residential areas are home to families as well as snowbirds, who will rent out on the off season. Apartments are friendly to college students, and amenities are convenient. 

The cons that do exist come from the college students. Weekend nights are common for noise disturbances, DUIs, and rowdy crowds. Traffic during weekdays taking place at odd hours is the fault of the Full Sail campus, with classes that could start anywhere from 4:30 in the afternoon, to 5:00AM. However, if you’re a Florida native, you should already know of the infamous offensive driving that becomes more aggressive the further south you travel. I-4 within Orlando city limits is always a nightmare, but I-4 can be avoided by using toll roads. Ez-passes and Sunpasses are worth the investment if you’re a resident who does a lot of traveling in and out of the city.

[sam-vargas]

Colorado Springs, Breckenridge, Aspen, Frisco, CO

In the distance, a gradient of burnt orange rising to dark blue speckled with white lights, stood as the backdrop for silhouette of the Colorado mountains. As the automatic doors slid open, a rush of dry, temperate air offset the cool, controlled air within the airport, a harsh contrast to the heavy humidity of Florida. The plane had left Florida in the late afternoon, landing in Colorado Springs just as the sun dipped below the line of the horizon. After a two-hour drive in a rental car under a darkening sky, signs for Breckenridge appeared along the road.

The first leg of the trip was spent navigating trails near the hotel. Patches of hard, un-melted snow lay scattered across the hills and trails, protected in part by shade from the tall pine trees. Thin layers blanketed mountain peaks in the unreachable distance. Evenings were spent shopping and enjoying restaurants in the small town nearby. After the winter sports thrill seekers had gone, and the snowbirds had returned from their vacation homes in the South, the streets were primarily populated with locals and summer vacationers. The buildings were quaint, dark brick and light stone with large windows lit by sunlight during the day and the warm orange glow of artificial light at night.

After exhausting the attractions in Breckenridge, we drove southwest, winding between mountains and forests. Most roads had two lanes and were straight and flat, with clear predictable turns and curves. Others ran up and along mountainsides.

I remember looking out the window, past the road and down the steep slope, feeling a combination of carsickness from the winding roads and vertigo from the change in altitude. The knowledge of damp roads beneath our tires acted as fuel on the fire of my growing anxiety. Being a native Floridian, with my Floridian parent behind the wheel, I feared the unpredictable, tight curves as we climbed higher and higher.

Cool, clean air filled my lungs upon opening the car door and stepping out onto the loose earth. The sand and gravel underfoot stretched from the parking lot to a narrow path nestled between Aspens. The mountain itself stood out against the clear blue sky, looming above a crystalline blue lake. Water from the lake flowed into a river alongside the path, cascading over and between rocks and boulders. Small gray stones lined either side of the path leading to the beginning of the hiking trail. Uneven stone slabs and dirt acted as stairs, embedded by time and nature. Trees grew from the mountainside framing the path and curving overhead.

In the ascent up the mountain, breaks in the trees gave way to a shifted perspective. From above, the true breadth of the lake revealed itself, as did the spectacular view of the surrounding mountain peaks with snow topped crests. The path segued from sand to gravel to stone and boulders. Towering trees grew between the boulders along small inclines.

Progression up the mountain path brought higher altitudes and burning lungs, as a life spent at sea level failed to produce the lug capacity necessary for climbing. Frequent breaks extended the hike, but finally, tired and breathless, we reached the plateau.

Past the narrow sand and gravel trail, between trees and boulders, at the top amongst the surrounding mountain peaks, a turquoise blue lake with red clay accents sat nestled in a hidden nook. Breezes snuck past the gaps between mountains, and the sun beat down from a cloudless sky. The rush of water grazing the rocks, grass and dirt, burbled in the silence, accompanied by the rustle of pine needles and the swaying dance of the trees. Scattered voices rang out from passing tourists and hikers, a short burst of laughter, a whisper, a reverent phrase. Most, however, soaked in the silence of the moment, of the lake seemingly separate from the rest of the world.

Leaving behind this oasis was bittersweet, but our plan was to return to Breckenridge within the next day or so. The return trip seemed shorter, easier. The struggle came in leaving behind the beauty of the mountain.

The last leg of the trip found us back in Breckenridge. Rental bikes allowed us to traverse the trails between Breckenridge and Frisco. The long, scenic route ran between the highway and the mountains. Momentum increased with the small dips on the path and decreased as the path once again began to ascend, eventually becoming an incline starting at the base of the mountain. Burning calves worked petals, spinning wheels moved up the slope, and hearts pounded.

As we crested the mountain top, Frisco appeared through the trees. The off-grade buildings followed the slope of the terrain, and streets were lined with event tents crowded with people. Muffled voices rang out, amplified by speakers from the small concert stage at the end of the road. The sound of meat sizzling on the grill joined the cacophony, and the aroma of grilling meat left mouths watering.

The next day, our flight departed once again from Colorado Springs to Florida. Despite cracked, dry, and sunburnt skin, the trip was deemed a success.

[sam-vargas]

Whistler, BC

In the silent and peaceful mountains hidden along the west coast of Canada, resided the small resort town of Whistler. The village, enveloped in the slow downfall of snow and the quiet whispers of cold breezes through the pines, triggered a sense of nostalgia.

Few cars passed through the road between the mountain lodges and the village. White fairy lights wound around tree branches and hung in shop windows. Snow coated the foliage of the trees and the ground in a thin sheet, while small, almost indiscernible flakes of white drifted from the black skies beyond the gray haze of clouds. They made their descent, dancing on the breeze like miniature cotton balls. Snow peaked mountains surrounded the perimeter of the village ascending into and past the low hanging sheet of clouds, their silhouettes shadowed and undefined against a haze of white backdrop. 

As the annually anticipated December holiday drew nearer, strings of green, red, and blue lights wound around the snow caked pine trees and across the metal railings of small bridges, producing festive atmosphere. Electronic snowflakes hung from lampposts, and green lights hung beneath the bridges, the light reflecting off the white snow covering the layer of ice over frozen water. Reminiscent of log cabins in the woods, the accumulating snow and warm lighting from the shops bathed the entire village in an atmosphere of warmth and festivity.The fleeting whispers of winter breezes maneuvered through frost blanketed fir trees, and around the towering silhouettes of encompassing mountains. Snowfall filled the background silence between gusts like white noise. 

Voices pitched high and low, soft and loud mingled with the snowfall, breeze and rustling pine needles. Chatter and laughter followed the crunch of booted feet in the snow as people moved throughout the village. The warm glow of the shop windows cast squares of orange across the walkways and snowy streets and illuminated passerbys. Buildings of dark wood panels influenced the ski resort aesthetic of the village. 

With the snow and higher altitudes came the nose nipping, bone chilling cold. The bite of the air sans windchill warranted a snow jacket, two shirts, two pairs of pants, a pair of sock liners, wool socks, and a pair of snow boots. Even then, the cold rendered those layers useless. 

Some took advantage of the cold. Couples clung to one another, scrambling for warmth when the short, freezing winds passed through. Children burrowed deeper into their puffy snow jackets, stuffing their gloved hands into warm pockets and squinting teary eyes. I clung to my father, the tallest member of my family, and used him as a shield against the winds whenever they blustered. Relief came at the end of the day in the form of free hot chocolate and apple cider upon our return to the lodge.

The unforgiving element to natives of warmer climates became a welcome comfort synonymous with the cold spray of snow and scratch of skis on slopes. Nights spent curled by the fire, palms warmed by the ceramic of a mug, and lungs warmed by the scent of spiced fruit wafting through the steam. Pure, white snow blanketed the mountainside in thick layers, falling from the sky in delicate flurries from sheets of gray clouds. When the oppressive heat and humidity native to the sunshine state become too much, I will fondly remember the clean, crisp allure of Whistler.