by Sara Long
When I was a young girl, I was fascinated in the idea of nostos. How grand it must be, I thought, reading about Odysseus washing up on the shores of Ithaca, to return home after a long journey. Of course, I never thought about how leaving home is necessary to be able to return one day, nor of how desperate Odysseus was to stay home in the first place.
Last summer, Anthony and I moved from Bellingham, Washington, where we lived for five years while I attended WWU, to Kansas City, Missouri. During the spring of that year, Anthony had begun experimenting with shooting film. Much to my dismay, he used a lot of expired film at that time, but when he wasn’t, he got some fantastic images of the Bellingham area that we knew and loved.
Bellingham blue is a feeling as much as an idea. Taken in the springtime, within these photos lives a natural warmth and often, bittersweetness. With just weeks left before moving halfway across the country, we went out in search of the things that felt familiar and brought us joy, but in each photo there is a bit of sadness in all that blue. A part of us knew that by taking these photos, we were letting go of all the things that made Bellingham, home. The quiet homes that we walked past in the evenings, the neighborhood cats and front lawn dogs, the trails we’d trod on hundred of times—taking photos was a way of saying goodbye, I love you, I’ll miss you terribly.
Bellingham blue bled into periwinkle and almost purple sometimes. Much like Bellingham itself, this collection is eclectic, ranging from clean lines on buildings to forgotten doorways and abandoned vehicles splattered with light through tree branches.
I asked Anthony why he focused on blue, and he told me it was as simple as noticing a pattern. “Bellingham blue was a self-imposed challenge,” he told me, “I was trying to set limitations for myself, and still find a way to be creative.” When I pressed further, he explained that he was still trying to get used to the basics of film photography, after switching from digital. “You don’t want to shoot through a whole roll of 36 photos on just anything,” he said, “by only taking photos of the color blue, I was forced to think about the photo I wanted beforehand, rather than just snapping away and hoping I would end up with something I liked.”
Photos I am especially grateful for:
The houses. Antnie and I often went on walks in the evenings through our neighborhood and beyond. Things that never registered to me would catch Antnie’s eye, and he would capture an image like this - House V - so dreamy and picturesque shown here, with its sloping roofs and shrubbery peeking out through the fence.
The art exhibition at the Black Drop coffeehouse in downtown, depicting art by brilliant local creative and visionary Delaney S. Saul, @coven.art on Instagram.
The Boulevard Pier in Fairhaven. The first time I went down here was with my good friend Oonagh, who took me down the overwater boardwalk in our sophomore year. We climbed trees together while the sun set, watching people from the branches as they walked their dogs, played frisbee, and splashed in the Bellingham Bay.
The Masonic Hall across the street from our old apartment. The hard angles and jutting edges were, I think, some of Antnie’s favorites to shoot. You can see the shadows created by the angular architecture made for some really clean photos, especially on days where the sky was Bellingham blue.
The beach shops at Birch Bay, where my family would go on vacation when my siblings and I were kids. I remember getting ice cream across the street from here in the summer after long afternoons spent walking along the beach, collecting perfect seashells, skipping rocks and arguing with my brother.
The laundromat parking lot that we crossed through in the evenings on our way home, sometimes stopping across the street at a burger joint called To and Go. That business didn’t last more than a year, but during the winter they were open, I was always grateful for a paper bag of fresh, hot waffle fries after a brisk evening walk.
Memory is a fickle thing, saturated with feeling. I want to remember Bellingham the way it was captured in these photos, the way I felt before leaving: full of joy and potential, blue in the sky and the ocean and the homes, with the smell of rain and earth in the air, so that when I do return in all my homecoming glory, those feelings might flood back.