Several days later Murray asked me about a tourist attraction known as the most photographed barn in America. We drove 22 miles into the country around Farmington. There were meadows and apple orchards. White fences trailed through the rolling fields. Soon the sign started appearing. THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN IN AMERICA. We counted five signs before we reached the site. There were 40 cars and a tour bus in the makeshift lot. We walked along a cowpath to the slightly elevated spot set aside for viewing and photographing. All the people had cameras; some had tripods, telephoto lenses, filter kits. A man in a booth sold postcards and slides — pictures of the barn taken from the elevated spot. We stood near a grove of trees and watched the photographers. Murray maintained a prolonged silence, occasionally scrawling some notes in a little book.

“No one sees the barn,” he said finally.
A long silence followed.

“Once you’ve seen the signs about the barn, it becomes impossible to see the barn.”

He fell silent once more. People with cameras left the elevated site, replaced by others.

“We’re not here to capture an image, we’re here to maintain one. Every photograph reinforces the aura. Can you feel it, Jack? An accumulation of nameless energies.”

There was an extended silence. The man in the booth sold postcards and slides.

“Being here is a kind of spiritual surrender. We see only what the others see. The thousands who were here in the past, those who will come in the future. We’ve agreed to be part of a collective perception. It literally colors our vision. A religious experience in a way, like all tourism.”

Another silence ensued.

“They are taking pictures of taking pictures,” he said.

He did not speak for a while. We listened to the incessant clicking of shutter release buttons, the rustling crank of levers that advanced the film.

“What was the barn like before it was photographed?” he said. “What did it look like, how was it different from the other barns, how was it similar to other barns?”

Somehow I feel that this is probably why I am not so enthusiastic about “what-to-see”s from others’ travel notes, especially those extremely detailed ones. It is much more interesting for me to notice a place from some vague mentions, perhaps a sentence in a book, a corner in movie, or something a friend once briefly talked about, and then to discover the place on my own. However much convenience those travel notes provide, they would spoil the fun and drag me into a copy of themselves.

Today on history:

1. 2006:  市场假相阿市场假相(4)
2. 2005:  运动会结束(1)

This message is for you (especially the Brazil-T-shirt, the Pink-T-shirt, king of kicker, malo and face-in-the-dark) in case you were so curious that even Chinese cannot keep you from reading my blog.
Since you’ve so easily found my blog, I think that it might not be secure to write your real names on the internet, for your future reference.
To better protect your privacy, I decided to ENCODE your names in CHINESE. If you want to know whether I was talking about you, use Google translator(your language to Chinese) to identify yourself. (To Peibol only, look for 帕布罗.)
And if you want to know if I was speaking ill of you , you may as well try Google translator. But considering its poor performance regarding Chinese, I’ll reassure you that it is a translation mistake whatever you find. lol

Someday in the future, when I became a master in PERL, I would try to write my blog in PERL, so that your information would be completely safe with me. But our boss might still understand… lol

Yours,
Yi.Curious.Shy.Happy.Meat-lover.Sleepy….[Let's omit the last name]
13.09.2012

Music updated on 2013/08/16

2012/04/19 小装修一下
p.s. 顶上的图忘了是哪里偷来的，欢迎认领版权。

Today on history:

1. 2006:  让我来八一下天龙八部(4)