I peered down at ancient Roman ruins, stared up at The David, and gazed up and down the canals of Venice, but before I did, I took a photo. Rather than take these historic marvels in with my own eyes, I—and the rest of the tourists around me—took a picture first. We all walk the halls of museums, the streets of foreign cities, the trails through a forest and take pictures of the things we see. Centuries ago, there was no way to capture every sunset, pretty flower, or adorable dog. The things that were captured were purposeful, intentional. Photos, museums and galleries all seek to preserve, but I find it interesting how many things people feel the need to capture on a daily basis. I know I personally take too many pictures; I have thousands of photos on my phone, half of which I don’t look at anymore, but in the moment, I felt they were worth capturing. Is the impulse to take a photo due to the fact that we recognize that this moment, this beautiful thing, won’t last forever? Beauty is complex and always evolving, but there are some things that have always been considered beautiful. These ever-beautiful things are almost always natural entities or historic works like the Alps, Mona Lisa, Niagara Falls, or the Colosseum. Having never been to Europe before this trip, I truly believe that I have never seen more beautiful things in my life than I have in Italy.
Home to hundreds of museums, Italy houses famous works known around the world. People travel from every corner of the globe to visit the Accademia, the Uffizi, or the Borghese to experience the art for themselves. While having my own experiences with The David or La Primavera, I found myself contemplating the importance of capturing moments in time. These sculptures and paintings were moments captured in another time, in another place, and by someone else. So, there I stood, taking my own photos, re-capturing this moment for myself. Like the infinite possibilities of a sunset, this moment once captured would never be exactly the same ever again. I wonder if, subconsciously, we are worried about forgetting. Is that why my hands instantly reach into my pocket for my phone whenever I see something alluring? Am I worried that this thing will not last in my memory? Or even worse, will it not exist forever?
I thought about these questions as I traveled to Rome. Coming into Rome by train, I observed it as a modern city. There were intersections and stop lights, crosswalks, cars and taxis, power lines along the train tracks, apartment buildings, restaurants and stores. It was only when we got into a taxi to head to our apartment that history began to reveal itself. Woven in with modern buildings are pieces of the past: unapologetically massive cathedrals, cracked and crumbling arches, columns sprouting out of the ground like trees. How had it all not turned to dust? I whipped my head back and forth in the taxi trying to see everything on either side of the street. I was in awe passing one marvel after another on the ten-minute ride and we hadn’t even seen the Colosseum yet.
When I finally did lay eyes on the Colosseum, I couldn’t help but imagine what happened there so many centuries ago. So much death and destruction had occurred within these walls and somehow the structure itself is still standing. I couldn’t stop myself from taking photo after photo of the enormous arena, but I also felt like it was okay to do so. The Colosseum and other historic ruins around the world lasted centuries without being documented; people just saw them with their own eyes each day. But today we need to put more effort into preserving these beautiful things. And each building, each column, each piece of rubble is so intricate—I’m convinced that nothing built today could ever compare to the beauty and elegance of these creations. I am continually humbled by the detail put into every aspect of every structure. Did the Romans admire the Colosseum like we do today? Did they know they were creating things that would continue to amaze the world for centuries to come? Rome is a city of the past and present, just like many other cities I’ve seen so far in Italy. I have such an appreciation for Italy’s ability to preserve the past. Cities like Florence that aren’t necessarily very modern could be re-designed, but life functions here just as well as it does in any other city. The uneven, narrow streets were not built for cars, the towering stone buildings were not designed for Wi-Fi, power grids are not equipped for the electricity that dryers require so people hang their clothes to dry. The historic structures of these cities were not ready for the modern world, yet, both the past and the present are coexisting here.
But the world is still changing in unprecedented ways and today we are at a crossroads. Our extreme use of the Earth’s natural resources, the pollution we release and the land we damage impacts us all. Considering all the other naturally and historically beautiful things we’ve destroyed in the past, I wonder what will still be standing in the next 50, 100, or 200 years. This is one of the reasons I think photography is important. Our way of life now is so high-tech, complex, and dependent on the destruction of the planet that we are making irreversible changes. By taking pictures of these beautiful things, we can remember them and share them with the world for years to come. By using photography to capture things like the Greenland ice sheet or The David, we can also emphasize the importance of preserving them. How many more species will have to go extinct, how many more glaciers will have to melt, how many more trees will have to fall, and how many more treasures will we have to lose before something changes? And what if things don’t change?
On the trip to Pienza and Montepulciano I stood on cracked, uneven cobblestone, leaning over a wall of eclectic brick and stone and stared out the vast sea of green. The hills rolled like waves, the sun was scattered by the clouds and I had never seen something that made me feel more appreciative. I was appreciative that I could experience a view like this in my lifetime; that miles of grass and trees still flourish, that people use the land, not abuse it. This was one of those views that I wanted to capture and share. I wanted to scream: “this is what we have to lose!” And after looking at buildings like the Pantheon and the Colosseum and visiting cities like Pienza, Montepulciano, and Venice, I know there is so much more we could still lose. Life is so much more advanced today, but at what cost?
I think we are hypocrites. We teach history to children in school and pretend we care so much about the past and preservation. In third grade I learned about biomes: deserts, tundras, rainforests, deciduous forests, boreal forests, oceans. My favorite was always the rainforest; the trees were so tall, and everything was so green—there were endless possibilities of life within these dense jungles. But today, biomes like the rainforest face serious threats. Animals face habitat loss due to melting ice and deforestation. They also must deal with pollution as we release more carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and dump more trash and toxins into the oceans. With our actions, we are careless towards the Earth and the naturally and historically beautiful things that are still left. We take and consume and destroy until there is nothing left—until species are extinct, forests have disappeared, glaciers have melted—yet we still place such an emphasis on beauty. We are hypocrites because our actions today do not match what we say we value.
So, what is beautiful to us today? Is it still Renaissance art and architecture? The mountains and oceans? Or is it technology, artificial intelligence and the desired effortlessness of everyday life that is beautiful to us now? It seems as though we are determined to make everything better by altering it, adding something to it. If we could just correct this…it would be perfect, better. But maybe there is hope. Maybe we have not completely lost sight of the importance of the natural and the historic. The Leaning Tower of Pisa is admired every day for one main reason: we didn’t fix it. The tower has an unintended tilt that, aside from some structural corrections, was left alone. Using new technology, we could “fix” the beautiful, medieval tower to make it stand straight, but then we may not appreciate it in the same way. This is an example of a time we let something be because we recognized its unique qualities.
The world is chaotic and ever-changing—most of that change resulting from our actions. As I’ve tried to reiterate with my rambling, how we impact each other and the world around us is important. The biggest thing I will take away from my time in Italy is understanding of this concept: being aware of the beautiful things around me and how time is changing them. I am not only more aware of myself and how I relate to my surroundings, but how my surroundings relate to me. Going back to the United States, I hope to keep this mindfulness with me. I can do this through little things like eating less processed, organic food, more carefully separating my trash and recycling, and taking more time each day to admire what’s around me. I aspire to see and not just look, and I aspire to be conscious of the impacts of my actions on other people and on the world. So, with every picture I take and share, I hope that someone else recognizes the beauty I see and, more importantly, recognizes that this beauty is worth saving.
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