Ceci n’est pas un hôtel.

It’s too early in the morning to start thinking about the works of René Magritte.  It’s Sunday, the sun has not yet creeped over the horizon, and I’m driving to an early-morning photo shoot.

It’s too early in the morning to think about surrealism or witticisms.  And certainly no way to think about it in French.  You know how some people are polyglots, they can speak several languages?  I’m more of a polyclog, I can barely speak English, and don’t even get me started on any other languages.

It’s too early in the morning to think about – hey, wait a moment.  Is that a motel?

The sign says motel, but there’s a neon “no” at the bottom of the sign.  Probably one of those little switches that the hotel manager turns on to let people that there’s “vacancy” or “no vacancy.”

You know what?

I want to get a shot of this.  I’ve got the Nikon Df in the car, and the Vivitar 19mm f/3.8 ultrawide angle lens is on the chassis.  What the hell.  So I’ll be two minutes late to the photo shoot.  Can’t pass this up.

I parked the car and assessed the situation.  I can get this shot.

Okay.  The only way I’m going to get this picture is if I lay down on the ground, my back on the grass, and shoot straight up.

Hmm.  Wet grass.  I’m wearing a t-shirt and jeans.  It’s about 50 degrees this morning.  I know what that means.

Chuck’s gonna lay on the ground and get grass stains on his T-shirt and jeans.

Of course he will.  How else do you think I’m going to get this picture?

So why the fascination with this sign?  It’s not like it’s a faded Uneeda Biscuit sign that was painted on the side of a building 100 years ago.  And it’s not like this sign was lit up with flashing neon or twinkling arrow-delineating bulbs.

It’s just an old motel sign, one of many that once housed hundreds of visitors who were looking for healing mineral waters and the winner of the fourth race at the flat track.  I don’t know if it’s still a true “motel,” or if it’s been converted into apartments or short-term living arrangements.

That’s not what fascinates me about this sign.  It’s the word “no.”  That little neon-red two-letter word at the base of the sign.

Maybe what’s captured my attention about this sign is the fact after all.  Those neon “no vacancy” signs.  Or maybe it was just “vacancy” with the word “NO” being turned on or off at the front desk.  But for this sign… that “no” means something different.  Thus the name of the picture.

Now where in the name of surrealisme did I come up with this name for a picture?

Okay, for me to explain this, we have to go back to the works of René Magritte.  One of Magritte’s most famous paintings, The Treachery of Images, challenged people to question whether or not what he painted was a pipe… or was it a picture of a pipe… oh hell, just look at the artwork and decide for yourself.

So I decided to take the epigram from Magritte’s pipe – or non-pipe – and add it to the name of my photo.  And before any one of you questions me as being presumptuous or pretentious, let me state for the fact that my picture above is NOT a hotel.  Look carefully, the sign says it’s a Motel.

As opposed to it being a picture of a mohel… that joke was kind of cutting it too close, Chuck…

I could say that this picture will end up in the short pile for competition season 2015.  Or maybe not.  I might just keep this picture for something else.

At this point in time, I’m just shooting anything and everything I can.

Because I need to recapture whatever I’ve lost.  I’m kind of feeling like a failure.

Somewhere, I have to find that one image.  That one image, that Jumbuck, that Agfa-Ansco, that Palace…

That one image that gets me back in action.

Because some day, I want to be able to say… Mon nom est Chuck, et je ne suis pas un échec.