Beyond the Postcard by Bart Jaillet

Hawai‘i - August 2026
By Bart Jaillet

Long before arriving in Hawai‘i, I felt I had already been.

The islands reached me through hotel brochures, cinema screens, magazine spreads, and photographs of immaculate beaches framed by palms. Each image presented paradise as something composed and awaiting, her beauty arranged for the visitors.

Standing there for the first time, the familiar views were easy to encounter. Resorts occupied the shoreline with theatrical confidence. Pools appeared to dissolve into the Pacific. Lawns ended at beaches, immaculately groomed before breakfast. Every window seemed positioned to offer a version of the image I had inherited.

Past these carefully constructed scenes, Hawai‘i retained a certain presence that felt far less approachable. The ocean met volcanic rocks with blunt force. Clouds stagnated upon the mountains, accentuating the tension and mood of the coast across the day. The water shifted from polished blue to something dark and restless. These places remained self-possessed, indifferent to the omnipresent presence of non-autochthons, let alone my camera and the expectations I had carried with me.

That distance became central to the photographs. I worked with a Canon EOS-1N and 35mm Kodak Ektachrome, initially choosing the film as a nod to Slim Aarons and his seductive visions of leisure, and to the mid-century ritual of returning travelers gathering friends around a projector and subjecting them to a carousel of holiday slides.

Yet the saturated color soon took on a different meaning. It held the intensity of a first encounter: the dense greens, deep shadows, mineral blacks, and improbable blues.

Keeping the full film rebate visible, revealing the photograph as a physical object, marked by process, sequence, and chance.

Tourism is inevitable. People will continue to arrive, drawn by the same beauty that has circulated through images for generations. In Hawai‘i, that arrival carries a deeper responsibility. There is a reverence embedded in the land, in its people, and in the opulence of its flora and fauna. The islands feel sacred, resistant to ownership and larger than any visitor’s desire to possess them.

I was simply passing through and granted a brief view.

My motive was to look carefully, to take nothing, and appreciate everything.

Follow Bart’s work here.