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You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
Celeste Thorson wearing her magnificent burlesque costume using a black and crimson lace and satin corset with a custom black beaded applique and a black and red feather jeweled brooch in the center bodice, crimson tiered lace and satin skirt, a black and red feather boa bustle with black satin ribbon bow, thigh high stockings with a small bow and black seam up to the the back, sequin black pumps, beaded fringe art deco clutch purse and black satin gloves with a black and red feather jeweled half mask
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
During the time that the Stanleys used the hotel as a guest house, the fourth floor was the level reserved for the young children and their Nannies to stay. Guests would come to stay for weeks or months, so it was imperative to have a place to put them where they wouldn't disturb the guests... or their parents, for that matter!
The fourth floor has been the site of many hauntings, almost all of them by the spirits of children. They can be heard laughing and running along the hallways. Sometimes photographs will capture their haunting faces staring back between the spindles of staircase railings, or if you're lucky you will feel one take your hand or hug your leg.
If it's true, then it's all really very sad when you think about. It's one of the reasons I like to think ghosts don't exist.
The Nannies also seem to be active. There is a staircase leading to the tower at the top of the hotel on this floor. People who try and go up it often feel themselves pushed down forcibly, or pulled down, apparently because Nanny is making sure the children don't go into the dangerous tower section.
Room 401 is the room that used to be the Nannies' retreat at the end of the day. It is reputed to be the most haunted room in the hotel. It's said that the spirit of Lord Dunraven is particularly active here, possibly because the old lecher was attracted to a room largely occupied by a large number of ladies.
It wasn't here but in a nearby room that we had our "encounter".
But more of that in the next posting...
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
This is the corridor outside room 217. The door to 217 is on the right. Room 217 is the room that Stephen King stayed in when he was inspired to write the book, The Shining.
On October 30, 1974 King and his wife Tabitha arrived at the hotel on an “adult’s vacation” from their young family. Friends of Tabitha’s had suggested the hotel. They arrived at the end of the season and where the only guests in the hotel. The staff checked them into the most luxurious room they had, room 217, which they later learned was haunted. "When we arrived, they were just getting ready to close for the season, and we found ourselves the only guests in the place — with all those long, empty corridors . . ."
That night the couple dined completely alone in the grand dining room to taped orchestral music. "Except for our table all the chairs were up on the tables. So the music is echoing down the hall, and, I mean, it was like God had put me there to hear that and see those things. And by the time I went to bed that night, I had the whole book in my mind"
Tabitha turned in early, but King stayed up, wandering the empty corridors absorbing the atmosphere of the place. Eventually he arrived at the bar where he was served drinks by a bartender named Grady - a name he would use in his novel.
A few months earlier King had put together an outline for a novel he called, Darkshine. It was about a psychic boy in a haunted amusement park that comes to life. He abandoned the book after his editor’s reacted badly to the images of a young boy being chased by living roller coasters; basically they felt the concept was unsellable.
"That night I dreamed of my three-year-old son running through the corridors, looking back over his shoulder, eyes wide, screaming. He was being chased by a fire-hose. I woke up with a tremendous jerk, sweating all over, within an inch of falling out of bed. I got up, lit a cigarette, sat in a chair looking out the window at the Rockies, and by the time the cigarette was done, I had the bones of the book firmly set in my mind."
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
Since the room was small our Tour Guide had to move to the far corner in order to let everyone inside. This is the corner diametrically opposite the entrance door you saw earlier.
She'd started to talk about some of the events that had taken place in the room and had happened to hear on earlier trips. She'd been hugged twice before by a child's ghost. Once when she entered room 418 with a skeptical tour group she left it again to find that a couch in the corridor which had been on the right side of the corridor had moved to the left side, even though they were in the room for only a few minutes. When she asked the tour group if someone had left the room and moved it everyone denied it.
She was telling us about some of the people who had stayed in room 401 and 418 overnight and how popular it was with ghost hunters when suddenly she shuddered, stiffened and said, "one of them is hugging my leg right now".
Turns out the kids on the fourth floor often will hug or take the hands of people they often see, especially the tour guides.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
Crater Lake Lodge, Crater Lake National Park, Klamath County, Oregon
Margo and I went up to Crater Lake National Park for volunteer training last weekend - we are going to be "Winter Rim Volunteers," which involves assisting visitors, answering questions, helping with ranger guided snowshoe outings, etc. We had a lot of fun.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
The third day we were at the Stanley Hotel was a Sunday. We'd arrived Friday and just looked around and made friends. On Saturday we took the advice of the locals and met them at the annual Estes Park Beer-Fest. It's not all about the ghost hunting, y'know (truth is, the ghost hunting is just the excuse... a sort of courtesy detail). ;-)
On Sunday several of our other friends who we met on the Queen Mary were due to join us, so I went down and arranged for tickets for everyone to go on the hotel's Ghost Tour.
The hotel does BIG business on the ghost tour they run, as well as a weekly Ghost Hunt they run in the evenings on weekends. This is our tour group and you can see there were a lot of people. Our group was actually pretty small compared to some, and there were probably another seven tours running at exactly the same time as ours. I couldn't tell for sure, but the entire time we were there I was tripping over multiple tours going up the main staircase or hanging outside room 217 as we are here.
After we stopped here to talk about the hauntings in room 217 where Stephen King was inspired to write The Shining, we went upstairs to the fourth floor. And that's where something... happened.
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
Something completely different, no blood, just brick dust, they have to put a door in that wall, but the red dust traces made me (and don't ask me why), instantly thought about blood traces, human mind can sometimes be weird ;)
You’re scared of room 237, ain’t ya?
A longtime and diehard fan of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining and a bona fide Yosemite junkie, I’ve always viewed the interior of the Ahwahnee Hotel with a mixture of awe and dread. One can be forgiven if—upon first entering the grand hotel—he feels as though he’s just stepped from what John Muir called “the great temple,” into the lobby and great hall of the horrible Overlook Hotel. In fact, if there is a break in the illusion, it is that the common spaces of the Ahwahnee, rather than pregnant with foreboding silence, are overflowing with visitors.
This resemblance is no accident of course. Mr. Kubrick designed his set (especially the Colorado Room and the lobby) to mimic the Ahwahnee, and indeed, I have a hard time seeing the chandeliers, rugs, tables and windows of this hotel without imagining Mr. Torrance clacking away upon his Adler upon one of the long, sturdy tables. Smiling menacingly amidst the tourists and hikers come to catch a few moments rest by the enormous fireplace. All work and no play …
The great coup of The Shining was its replacement of Stephen King’s extensive backstory with a brooding atmosphere and a churning sense of doom. Mr. King allegedly hated it, but the rest of us fell in love with the film. No other film adaptation of Mr. King’s work risen to the mark that Stanley Kubrick set.
Now, Mr. Kubrick was a hell of a still photographer in his own right, and, for my money, it is no coincidence that he possessed a preternatural capability for creating mood. The greatest trick in still photography is to create a sense of place, to render a three-dimensional, flesh and blood world in the rectangular space of an emulsion or a computer screen replete with a taste of the subject’s emotive power. Now, there can be no argument that Mr. Kubrick achieved at least that throughout the film.
For my own part, I am fascinated with the reality that serves as the foundation for imagination and dreams. I’ve spent considerable time photographing The University of Chicago both because it served as the backdrop for a decade my own adventures and because it carries with it a germ of Oxford, one of many templates for Hogwart’s.
I can be forgiven then for long planning to shoot the Ahwahnee interiors. “But,” I always asked myself, “how to capture the silence and desolation that so defined the film?” How could I turn The Ahwahnee into The Overlook?
The answer came with a winter bug that laid me low. Feeling feverish and fortunate enough to be a guest, I sneaked out of bed late one night, closed the door gently behind me, and stepped into the long, carpeted hallways of The Overlook Hotel.
Stephen King will be the speaker for the Manatee Library Foundation’s most ambitious fundraiser ever!
Manatee Library Foundation will host “An Evening with Stephen King” in January, 2015 to benefit Manatee County Public Library System. Community leaders joined the library groups to announce the internationally acclaimed author during a press conference at Central Library on August 5, 2014.
“An Evening with Stephen King” will be held at the Manatee Performing Arts Center, 502 3rd Ave. W., Bradenton, on Jan. 29. As part of the fundraiser, the Foundation hopes to raise $100,000 to help overhaul the Library System’s online operating system. Northern Trust bank was also announced as the event’s presenting sponsor.
“We are ever grateful to Mr. King,” said Foundation president Jane Plitt. “Now as caring community citizens, we need to step up and help partner with the County. Become a sponsor and help us help our award-winning Library., Libraries transform our lives as children, adults and seniors. This year our Library won the State award for “changing people’s lives. Imagine what we can do with a new operating system!”
State Rep. Jim Boyd, the event’s honorary chair, said the event will be “second to none.”
Sponsorship packages from $10,000 (Presenting Sponsor) to $200 (Advocate) are available online or by calling (941) 748-5555, ext. 6306. To guarantee tickets, sponsorship commitments must be received by Oct. 15.
The Foundation will also give away a ticket to the King event to the winner of a Page Turner contest. The contest challenges amateur writers to submit the first paragraph – no more than 250 words – of an unpublished mystery. One winner will be announced in January. (If a minor wins the contest, he or she will be awarded two tickets for guardian accompaniment.)
King’s books have sold more than 350 million copies worldwide. His most popular titles include Carrie, The Shining, The Stand, Misery, It and The Dark Tower. His He has received the World Fantasy Award for Life Achievement, the Grand Master Award from the Mystery Writers of America along with numerous writing awards in the fields of fantasy, fiction, horror and mystery writing.
Manatee County Library Services Manager Ava Ehde explained that proceeds from the fundraiser will go to modernize the way local patrons use library resources. The Library’s outdated online operating system controls the behind-the-scenes staff functions and affects what library patrons can see and do when they use the catalog.
For more information on the event, to learn about sponsorships visit www.manateelibraryfoundation.org Later this year you’ll also be able to purchase tickets on that site.
A quick self portrait in a creepy hotel in Galena (although the building was unique and lovely, it reminded me very much of The Shining). ps - yes, that is an Assassin's Creed shirt ;)
The film tonight was The Shining -- perfect for the unusually cool evening. Remember, our little film series continues every Thursday (weather permitting) until fall.
Also, this Sunday in the garden at Ground Floor: an afternoon of free beer, rockin' tunes and crafty people hanging out. If you're in the neighborhood, stop by and say hello. Free beer son!