Chasing Aurora

Sitting in a trendy restaurant in a trendy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, I am asked What Next in capital letters, and between chews of arugula and avocado I carefully pronounce "Aurora Borealis" and the trendy conversation at the neighboring table stops dead. Ears pricked, our neighbors listen for the next small bomb: "Shooting" or "Filming," and of course one of these is next out of my mouth between chews of the $13 salad. I used to say to people that nothing is sexier than a movie, usually when I was raising somebody else's money to shoot mine. But the Aurora is its own beautiful siren, loaded with adventure and mystery. Shooting the Aurora Borealis is sexy, squared.


Part of its attraction must be that it cannot be completely captured. Its movements will be blurred, its textures smeared, and its colors muted or tinted neon lime, if any camera is involved. Chasing the Aurora is a guaranteed frustration or total loss, as all good love affairs should be. And come to think of it love affairs are almost impossible to catch on film, too. Gaudy, cheap cheesecake is usually Hollywood's offer when it comes to true sensuality, as witnessed by love scene embarrassments from everyone from Kim Basinger to Nicole Kidman. Blooming lust is hard to frame, whether in the sky or in your heart, and the looming sense of failure in trotting with camera into its shadows is a primary motive in my chase of the Borealis. I will not get lucky, no matter how fully I fall.

-- from Seanie Blue's "Chasing the Aurora Borealis: A Trip to the End of the World," with photos by Blue, including the one above.