
plate 1
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plate 2


plate 3


plate 4


plate 5
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plate 6


plate 7


plate 8


plate 9


plate 10 |
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'Bali
isn't what it used to be. It's just a tourist trap now.'
You hear the lament time and again as you speak to the
old hands down in paradise. And to some extent they are
right. A staggering 12 million people are reckoned to
visit this small Indonesian island each year, and not
even a culture as unique and resilient as Bali's can
survive such an onslaught entirely unscathed. Yet walk
just a couple of miles up the long stretch of beach that
fronts Kuta, leave behind the Bali-Bum westerners living
out their pony-tailed time warp, and you come upon the
flip side of the mass tourism coin. For just as the name
Bali is writ large in the fantasies of the budget
traveler, so it signals exotica to the sophisticated end
of the travel market, and in recent years more and more
temples of five star luxury have sprung up to cater to
those who arrive in the front end of the plane.
I watched The Legian being built over a number of
visits to Bali in the mid '90s, and with a growing sense
of curiosity. Its spectacular location facing the beach
and ocean was one thing, but what intrigued me most was
its apparent elegance. It seemed to exude a quiet,
understated sense of taste that the big international
chains either failed - or perhaps chose not - to capture.
My first stay confirmed those initial impressions. The
resort had been conceived as a complex of suites rather
than hotel rooms and the public areas were blissfully
serene, with the reception desk and other hotel trappings
discreet to the point of invisibility. It immediately
caught my photographic eye and I set about creating my
own interpretation of the world that The Legian had
created.
I discovered an empathy between the subject matter and
my way of working right away. My style of photography has
been called reflective - even meditative - in character.
Whether or not these descriptions are accurate, the
hotel's tranquillity presented a wealth of images that
immediately seemed to gel when framed in the lens. The
task was to determine what my objective was and to
identify the shots that would help achieve this goal. I
wanted to show The Legian by day and by night; I wanted
to say beach, architecture, food, spa - all the things
the hotel is - without shouting them; and I wanted to
create images that were a little tantalizing - glimpses,
often in close up, of subjects which in some way defined
the total experience.
Any photographer who claims they can walk into a
situation and pre-determine exactly which shots will
fulfill a brief is probably bluffing. I certainly can't.
Although I had fixed my objectives before hand, I allowed
myself to roam freely, searching out images within very
wide parameters. The skill then comes in the distillation
process; in sitting down with the work prints and setting
yourself a finite number of visuals within which the
'story' must be told.
When selecting the ten photographs which comprise The
Legian portfolio, I began with a core of three
architectural shots (plates 1,3 and 10). These formed, if
you'll excuse the pun, a concrete foundation, defining
the physical building and allowing me to add in the
descriptive software. I chose two shots taken on the
beach immediately in front of the hotel (plates 8 and 9)
to convey location, and two shots of decorative artifacts
(plates 4 and 6) to 'bring the beach indoors'. Two of The
Legian's enduring images rounded off the portfolio: The
tray of oils and spices from the spa greets every guest
as they take a seat at the reception desk, while the
ubiquitous white flower arrangement seen in plate 10 is
echoed in floral table motifs (plate 7) and a single
white orchid placed in guest bathrooms (plate 5).
People who see portfolios of my work invariably
comment that they like this shot or that. It's a
perfectly valid thing to say, of course. Each shot should
- and I hope does - stand on its own as a successful
entity. And yet to pick and choose is also to miss
something. As I write this, I am looking at a print-out
of all ten photographs, thumbnail size, on a single sheet
of paper, and I can't help but notice how they feed off
each other to create a whole that is far greater than the
sum of its parts. It's why I love working in portfolios;
however loosely or rigidly one defines the theme, the
extra dimension they provide is always rewarding, always
beneficial to the cause.
The Legian may be a series of ten photographs,
but for me the portfolio as a whole forms a subliminal
eleventh image. It says beach and ocean, flowers and spa,
architectural uniqueness and understated elegance all at
once, and depicts, more than individual photographs ever
could, The Legian as an island within the island of Bali.
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