Consider the balance between the already seen and the unforeseen.
A place, once visited and photographed, is committed to memory; saved on disk; gently processed for public consumption; and ultimately presented to the internet for the entire planet to view, discuss, perhaps reference. It is caught in amber, stale data already seen and now forever misleading.
Naturally, reality moves on while the virtual stands still. Electrons move fast, but atoms faster still. As the ancients might have said, things change.
Consider Terminal 115 viewpoint, already seen. Its gritty post-war beauty came not from the stagnant river or the military overpass, but from the old fisherman’s shack with its sunken barrels and boarded windows. A surprise, a touch of the handmade in a manufactured world. Unforeseen.
Eight months later, the shack is gone. Taken by the river, or a victim of the messy, unpredictable real world? Perhaps both.
So a second visit converts a place that was, in a way, special into yet another rock pile next to the Duwamish.
To be sure, the 1st Ave S bridge still has its East Berlin chic. It’s mostly the sniper towers.
There are still random things lying on the banks of the Duwamish, particularly at low tide. The river is a liquid steampunk landfill, and you never know what it’ll decide to wash up. This time it was somebody’s metal pipe.
On closer inspection, more things had changed. As it turns out, the previous occupants of 100 SW Peninsula Pl weren’t a marine diving company, as the previous note might have suggested. Instead, behind the fence was an eponymous outfit called Commercial Fence. They demonstrated their business acumen through an inordinate fondness for razor wire.
According to a sign onsite, Commercial Fence has now moved to greener pastures on W Marginal Way S. The vacant lot has presumably been purchased by the Port of Seattle. The Port of Seattle, of course, remains its usual charming self.
Not only that, their first act upon taking over the property was to take down the fisherman’s shack. No doubt the space will be used for something eminently practical.
Alas. Perhaps better to remember the already seen and avoid the location forever more, unless the unforeseen invalidate the memory.
Fisherman’s shack, you’ll be remembered. That is, if we can get ourselves disentangled from the razor wire.
The complete Flickr set.