Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes
Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
I seldom understand old Uncle Walt’s quote better than when I am in Las Vegas. The conservationist piece of me is sickened by the excess, by the greed of a city built on the fortune of a few and the misfortune of many. The purely sensual part of me, however, is mesmerized by the beauty of all that neon and glass: the I.M. Pei ripoff that is the Luxor, the burlesque of Roman architecture at Caesar’s Palace, the silly piratical theming of Treasure Island. They are, to that sensual piece of me, beautiful reflections.
That sensual piece of me also understands the wonderful, greedy chaos of the casino floor. I am fascinated by light; the way it shines and reflects and shapes the world. I try to capture that in my photography, and there are few places with light as unique and varied when you stand in the midst of the quarter-slots and video poker machines.
The same goes for the Strip itself - the hotels and signs and streetlights all come together into their own crazy tapestry of light. Now, I love the view of the LA Valley from the corner of Sunset and La Cienega at night, and the New York Skyline from Jersey at sunset, but Vegas at night is something all its own. Gawdy, over-the-top and somehow it reminds me of an insane Impressionist Masterpiece.
The epitome of the contradiction I find in myself while in Las Vegas are the fountains in front of the Bellagio Hotel & Casino. The sheer audacity and waste of a man-made lake in the middle of a desert is staggering - think of what that water could do in sub-Saharan Africa But I cannot deny the awe and beauty of that water being rocketed skyward in tight choreography to music.
The first time I went to Vegas, I spent most of the night walking up and down the Strip, from where the old Frontier used to be, south to the Luxor and back. I barely remember the corner-lurkers handing out escort cards and “free” show tickets, but I remember each and every hotel, and finding that Whitman-esque contradiction in myself.