Nothing. Nope. Don't Care.

Morris, one of fourteen travelers on our 2006 excursion to Myanmar, was a curmudgeon. Between adventures, while the rest of us chatted over cocktails, he was nowhere to be found. While we bussed from one place to another, or navigated the Irrawaddy River in a refurbished mail boat, Morris distanced himself, clasping a Nikon F3 on his lap, looking off at anything other than us. Sometimes I'd watch him, noting he took a fair amount of photos and seemed serious about shooting.

A few of us were photographers, and we enjoyed talking about what captured our attention, the equipment we used, and so on. Morris walked by during one of our discussions, and I got up the nerve to attempt drawing him in.

“What are your interests in photography?” I asked.

“I just take photos” he replied. I didn’t realize how literal he was being.

“Do you shoot film or slides?” 

“Slides.” 

“What do you do with them?”

“Nothing."

“Are you saving them for your kids, or…”

“Nope. I just store them, I have hundreds of boxes in my basement."

“But you look at them, right?

“Nope. I just enjoy taking them.”

“Does your family know they are there so they can see them someday?”

“Nope. Don’t care."

One morning a few of us rose early to embark on a hot air balloon float over Bagan. "Balloons Over Bagan” lifts tourists above 40 square miles of over 2200 temples, a testament to Burmese religious devotion over the centuries. The area, one of Asia’s richest archaeological sites, has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. As we lined up to get in, I was surprised (and pleased) when Morris approached me to share that he was afraid of heights. I told him he could stand behind me in the basket. “Thank you” he said, and he did in fact stand behind me at first. Eventually he shuffled to the edge, turned to tell me he was OK and proceeded to do what he did best.

Once we landed, he thanked me again. We never chatted after that.

A few days later the group ascended many steep steps to visit a temple. Although my bond with Morris was shallow and brief I nevertheless felt protective of him and wanted to make sure he made it up safely. Standing at the top, I waited for him to make it to the finish line. About six steps away he lost his balance and for a moment I thought we were going to lose him. I’m not kidding, it rattled me probably as much as it did him. I had to sit down for a minute to pull myself together. I'm sure he was wholly unaware of my concern.

Balloons Over Bagan was akin to a magic carpet ride over an exotic landscape I'd only seen in National Geographic. I’m curious about the photos Morris took. At the time, he was in his 80s so I’m sure he has left this mortal coil. Did anyone ever discover his slides? Maybe they were thrown away, which begs the question "why do we make art?” 

For me, art is meant to be shared. Enjoy! If you're so inclined, raise a glass of wine, juice, water, whatever, to Morris.