Each autumn, I observe the light becoming shorter in the North, and I have fleeting thoughts of packing up and going South, to follow the sun. This set marks 12 years since my travels in South America, exploring the Andes and the Amazon, attempting to capture the beauty, stone, and human achievement.
Death and mortality are strong themes in the human experience these days. As anyone does, I struggle with fear of illness, and how to even wrap my mind around our worsening situation in this global pandemic. Seeking humor and creative distraction can help to avoid becoming overwhelmed. I think about classic sundial mottos, their clever messages etched in stone, carved reminders of our inevitable end. I enjoy their humor and honesty.
Impact typeface is a nod to internet memes. Memes are banal and relatable, and so are mottos about human mortality. Fusing the sometimes frivolous nature of the internet meme with the seriousness of our own annihilation is something that amuses me. It also gives me space to work with odd photos of horizons and reflections.
The process of linking mottos with images is satisfying. The words stay with me. In particular, the Latin Mox nox, translated to English as Night, shortly or Soon comes night, is my favorite. The axiom seems ominous, but I have come to see it as a practical exhortation. Life is fragile. What is there to do but revel in the here and now? It’s all that we have. Tempus fugit.
The following image is what you get when you run a wood mill over a pile of ashes. That’s all there is. Remembrance of mortality helps me find a place of acceptance and peace.
Sunlight slowly fading over the ocean gives pronounced finality to the day. But not all sundial mottos refer to the abyss; some offer a note of vitality. This is a reminder that we are always moving: Vita in motu.
In late September, years ago, I visited a gem of public lands: Lake Easton. The subtle hum from the nearby interstate is part of the strange ambiance here, joining the deep, rhythmic rumble of the BNSF locomotives that frequently roll through the glacial valley. As I have harbored a love for the mystique of transcontinental freight trains since childhood, the area enchanted me. It is a place of continuous movement, whether water flowing through rivers and dams, motorists passing by, engineers urging on their cargo, or hikers, cyclists, equestrians, and kayakers finding their way through the state park and rails-to-trails. In early autumn, the summer crowds are gone and conditions are ideal in this convergence on shimmering waters.
I once wintered near Cape Kiwanda, on the Oregon coast. On daily walks, I observed subtle changes in the mutable sandstone, and admired the view of its stalwart basalt protector. I watched as storm surges roiled the ocean into thick froth, and I stood by as massive waves pummeled the prominence, crumbling land into sea. I’ve never visited anywhere quite like it on this planet. It is a timeless place, a collision of wind and earth and sea.
Between the bouts of nature’s violence, there were moments of stillness. These photos are from those days.
Twilight
Sunset
Spruces
Sifted
Cache
Aeons
Ferrous
Sandpipers
Protector
Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar…
After Tokyo, I sought refuge in the Olympic Mountains. Deep in the forest, off of the electric grid, few humans dwell. We remain mostly in place, surrounded by wildlife and dense biomass. This photo set is my lens view in the quiet of retreat. I examine nature’s light and texture, searching for the elemental and the imperfect.
I transferred to Tokyo for one year. In the city, we are often in transit. We move from one place to another, traveling established pathways over many lines. This photo set is my lens view while passing through these transitory urban spaces. I catch brief alignments and junctions, finding glimpses of bodies in motion.
Overpass
Yamanote line, evening
Passages
Gates
Shuffling
Transit (Sunrise, Moon, Venus, & Jupiter)
Ebisu
Crossing
Waiting for the Emperor
In the final frame, the motion ceases, and we pause and wait.