Tethered Gondolas… April 2023
I found myself in Venice during the final semester of my Master’s program in Fine Art. The city, a labyrinth of waterways and narrow streets, seemed to mirror my own state of flux. I was approaching the edge of an old life, about to step into a new one. Wandering through the mist-laden alleys, the stories I’d read about this floating city whispered back to me, tales of intrigue, art, and resilience that had long fueled my imagination.
Four Horses © Patrick Lee Hubbard 2023
Venice, after all, was a place of contradictions—a city both rising above and sinking into its waters. Its grand Piazza San Marco had borne witness to the ebb and flow of empires. Once the heart of a mighty maritime republic, the square had hosted the spectacle of state ceremonies and masked revelries during Carnival. At the center stood the Basilica, its golden mosaics shimmering like a treasure chest. It was said that the four bronze horses atop the church had been stolen from Constantinople, their presence a quiet testimony to a history written in conquest and trade.
I hadn’t picked up my camera in almost a year. Researching AI image generators had consumed me. They were impressive, capable of creating breathtaking visuals, but I soon realized they were something else entirely. Sitting at my keyboard, I would conjure an image in my mind, then instruct the machine to replicate it. The process became a game of refinement, a loop of imagining and iterating. Hours dissolved as I chased elusive perfection. Yet, as I sat there, I began to lose sight of the essence of creation—the unpredictable magic that comes from capturing the world through your own lens.
Tethered Gondolas © Patrick Lee Hubbard 2023
That epiphany struck me on the steps just outside Piazza San Marco, where I watched the gondolas sway against their moorings. The water lapped at the stairs, its gentle rhythm interspersed with the creak of wood against pole. These gondolas, tethered and empty, seemed brimming with latent potential. They held promises of journeys untaken, whispered dreams of romance and adventure. I felt a kinship with them, both of us poised for something new, waiting for a hand to untie the rope.
“Non si può sedere qui,” came a voice above me. Startled, I looked up to see a police officer gesturing briskly, his tone firm but not unkind. No sitting on the steps. I stood, dusted myself off, and slipped into the labyrinthine streets behind the Basilica di San Marco.
As I walked, I realized how far I’d drifted from the reason I became a photographer. With the machine, I had let go of my own perspective, replacing it with a sterile pursuit of technical brilliance. But Venice was awakening something in me. I saw beauty again—not in perfection, but in the interplay of light and shadow, the spontaneous gestures of life unfolding in the moment.
Chakravyuha © Patrick Lee Hubbard 2023
Photography, I remembered, was a conversation. Each image asked a question, revealing thoughts I hadn’t yet articulated. It wasn’t about control but discovery. Sometimes, I wouldn’t even understand the meaning of a photograph until I developed it, its quiet voice whispering truths I didn’t know I’d captured.
In Venice, I found that voice again. The city, with its timeless stories and luminous light, offered me not just inspiration but a challenge: to see with fresh eyes, to ask better questions, and to embrace the imperfect wonder of the world as it is.
