and so the Journey Begins
a photographic voyage into Divine Land

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Page 1 of 32
October 2, 2004, The Beginning


I have, more or less patiently, waited more than three weeks for this.  Not just to write in this “old leather appeal without the leather” journal, but to embark on a voyage devoted entirely to photographing the Armenian landscape.

After three weeks of waiting, what is another four hours?  The formal yet apologetic letter handed to me as I approached the Air France counter at LAX was the harbinger of this delay.  Mechanical problems… Air France has more than made up for this lapse now.  Imagine an entire audio channel devoted to Jean-Michel Jarre, and enough bubbly to contaminate the oxygen receptors in my brain, and you’ve got the beginnings of a happy camper.  The ducking with cranberries should erase any lingering memories of a gripe against yet another airline.

True, I’ll arrive at Yerevan’s Zvartnots airport 12 hours later than I was supposed to.  In my mind, I’ve already erased plans of a mad pre-dawn dash to Khor Virap with appropriate plans to photograph the first of many sunsets in Armenia.

How appropriate for ‘Souvenir of China,’ replete with electronically generated sounds of a camera shutter, to start this very minute.  I have but to close my eyes to imagine the landscapes I’ll be photographing.

Yes, I’m nervous.  So much is at stake here.  My family, my wife Carol especially, have put their faith in me, given me the freedom to not only dream of this journey, but to embark on it. 
Who knows what will happen in Armenia?  Will it constantly rain?  Will it be dry and dusty as every September usually is?  Will I be too early, agonizingly early, for fall colors?  

It used to be, perhaps even as recently as a couple of years ago, that I was mostly a “fair weather” photographer.  You know the kind… Visiting only as a tourist, sticking to the beaten path, photographing in the harsh noontime sun, only because that’s when one got to a certain destination.   Thankfully, those days are long gone.  Hailstorms in Lachin, rain in Shoushi, but most of all a stormy winter in Yosemite National Park have cured me of this.  I can photograph in rain.  I love to photograph snowfall on a meadow.  Gray skies don’t daunt me, they light my photographs in a way no elaborate lightbox could.   I am prepared for whatever this trip will yield.

Haghartsin Monastery,
Photographed during a previous trip in June, 2003

Armenia is not entirely foreign to me anymore.  Visits as a young adult in 1980, 1981, and in 1990 have laid the foundation for two voyages in 2003 that opened my photographic eyes to the breathtaking landscape of Armenia. 

Yet, I do venture into the photographic unknown.  In my last (and only second) exhibition, I dared display photographs of Yosemite and Armenia side by side.  My logic stemmed from the fact that these are two locations on this planet that are dear to me.  Yet, if I could serve as my own critic, few of my photographs from Armenia compare to the majesty of a clearing storm at sunset in Yosemite at full moon.

Thus were born the first thoughts, the first dreams of the voyage I have just embarked on.   The photograph of the clearing storm at Yosemite is the result of countless sunsets spent freezing at Tunnel View, hoping to catch the right light at the right time.    Yosemite is familiar to me, in no small part due to the efforts of Michael Frye, both in person and through his comprehensive photography guidebook.  There is no equivalent in Armenia.  I am on my own, with no one to guide me to the right location at the right time of year.  To be honest, I do have the closest I can come to this in Armenia.  Stepan N., who is to be my guide and my travel companion in Artsakh, knows the country like the back of his hand.  He has already shown me brief glimpses of basalt cliffs more impressive than Devil’s Postpile in California, churches hewn in two, more serene perhaps than unchanging Half Dome.     My mission, simply put, is to try to capture these wonders on film in spite of the long odds facing me.  After all, Horsetail falls in Yosemite captures (and reflects) the fiery colors of sunset for only one week a year, and then for less than one minute, just after sunset.

Thus is born the second purpose of this journal.   These pages will become not only a chronicle of what I’ve seen and photographed, but of notes and directions that will allow me to return to various locations when conditions are more ideal, in better light, in a better season, and perhaps in better weather.  I will also add, wherever I can, interviews with local photographers who can give insight, through their words and pictures, into photographing their favorite locations.

As excited as I am to keep writing, I’ll be stopping now.   The adventure begins.
Text and Photographs Copyright © 2004 Vahé Peroomian. All Rights Reserved
Duplication and use of photographs and text without permission strictly prohibited.