When you live on a tropical island, as I do, it is easy to be dazzled by color. Each day the sun bursts from the night sky, swings swiftly along an arc to the western horizon and then sizzles into the sea—as if in a hurry to give our eyes relief. In the course of its journey, it reveals a gamut of hues impossible to name, achingly difficult to perceive. In the tropics, the sky is closer than at any other latitude, and it is not just blue—it vibrates violet and vermilion. The jungle shimmers green and gold. What camera can capture that?
I remember these lines, translated from the French of Baudelaire: “My burnt out eyes can now decry only the memory of suns.” Tropical Color in Black & White is my vision of tropical Puerto Rico, stripped of the dazzle, but seeking the memory of suns.