the blurriness of tourism (JFK art)

At JFK, a series of holographic light boxes I passed on the way out of the international flight from Korea almost perfectly captures the way I understand tourism and the way it reproduces the meaning of places.

First, the medium, the light. Like so many signs I saw in Asia, the quality of fluorescent and the way it sheds the cool blue beams of white that never flickers or tries something as silly as get sentimental. It's the light in the 24-hour Chinese restaurant, the light above the pumps at the gas station, the light at the airport whenever, wherever, always.

I stopped and took pictures because I was struck by the movement as well; instead of saying one thing, as I passed it, the images said at least two or three, if not more, things.

A South Asian woman and a white tourist, both in front of the shimmering Taj Mahal; the way they cannot fully co-exist in the same picture, reflecting the improbability of their taking a journey together or even a picture together. When I completely see the Indian woman in the orange sari, the white tourist is nearly invisible. When I see the white woman in the blue dress, the orange sari is just a streak of orange smoke, like powder smeared across that part of the image.

And then, their expressions, their individuality. The Indian woman does not smile; she is solemn in front of the building; her sense of gravity at having her picture taken, or just the custom of not breaking out into a cheshire cat grin in front of a lens. The white woman who smiles gamely, widely; this is her moment, it feels more 'precious,' like, "Here I am in front of the Taj, who would've thought?"

Both could be tourists, both could have traveled to that spot. But for the viewer, there are so many assumptions about who belongs more, who looks more awkward or strange or comfortable in the frame, or how the place changes with each in the picture. One, with the Indian woman, could be timeless, it could be taken at any time, say. But once the white woman enters the picture, we can date it; this is the age of travel, or at least of colonialism; someone has arrived here just to see the Taj.

And what's to say of the persistent and faceless photographer in the middle, who shows up dark and clear in both of the pictures I took? He's there, behind both of the woman, leaning in for the perfect shot. He's in the middle because, without him, in a sense, there would be neither image, either the Indian woman or the white woman standing in front of the Taj.

I love the blur, the way the images refuse to stay still, to reveal only one reality, one experience. How it catches me, to say, Look, time, place; it moves, you moved it.