Peering through the Crook of Tutankhamun into an ancient world, how did these Egyptian artifacts travel up the Nile of Canada, once called the Kaniatarowanenneh, later sainted to be Lawrence, into curious hands attached to a body with feet sinking into the waters on a silty shore in a world older than the gods?
Imperceptible: two islands pass each other like icebergs unmoored perhaps from the North American plate, speeding at two inches per year instead of one, racing to meet each other's shorelines, longing to touch the scars from when the world tore them apart. I will stand here and wait; millenniums will pass, my bones will become flooded in the wake as waves rise to cool the fires of this burning love to a tender kiss; eons will pass, and perhaps all that remains of me to bear witness to this joyful reunion is my femur, not even my skull devoid of eyes has endured for in the wake of the island's kiss its impatient hallow brain swam for faster waters, a more immediate reaction to the world, but slow as old legs are, my femur remained stoical among the pebbles and the stones for my bone had learned to tell time like them: Geological time.
The plastic top of a McDonald’s cup dazzles me. It shimmers like a gem at the end of a quest. I can’t resist temptation. I pull it from the ground like Excalibur’s sword from the stone and hold it up to the triumphant light of day, alone in my majesty. I peer through the sorcerer’s stone, which is indented where it reads “iced tea,” and gaze out over the island of Avalon under one of Merlin’s spells, captivated in my translucent fairytale, feeling rather thirsty under this warm sun; I would have preferred a Coke.
Refracted light refracts; sun stars dance on little waves, creating a blinding spectacle of white light on black water. I wash the broken pieces of coloured and clear glass in the cold March waters of the St. Lawrence River and place them on a rock to dry in the sun before holding them over my lens to see what happens when I do. The more curious event is who keeps taking all my cleaned shards of glass from my drying stone. Each day, I return, and alas, I must search through the sand for new shiny fragments of beer bottles as someone has once again taken my prized finds from my drying rock to keep; pesky little magpies flying from Australia to steal my sparkling optics brimming with river stars.
The thing about a thing is that it is always thinging around, not doing much of anything, but I can never resist their charm. How does it look here? Where is its shadow there? Why is it at all? Where is a doctor when you need one, a Seuss of a practitioner who could give me a proper diagnosis of what this thing of things is or does? I hold the thing, but am I keeping it right? How does it want to be held? I use it as a lasso for the clouds, no wait, a porthole on the Titanic before it leaves the dry docks in Belfast, or perhaps it is a magnifying glass to study stones? I put it in my x-ray machine; three different results, three different things; how typical? That’s the thing about things, isn’t it? They’re always thinging around.
I borrowed a shadow from a rock and placed it against a nearby boulder. I put the shadow between two trees, forming a V shape between the heavens and the earth. I held the shadow up high against the blue gradient of the sky and then held it lower, closer to the horizon. I kneeled next to the naked rock from which the silhouette came and placed the shadow back before I or it ever knew it had taken a momentary flight, only revealed in retrospect through photography.
Spring is upon us, and with it comes new beginnings (perhaps disguised in old ways). I have immensely enjoyed “Blind Spot” by photographer/writer Teju Cole, which led me to craft the above image and text pairings (the text being an afterthought to the photos or, more accurately, revelations to the subjects in the photographs). I can’t recommend the work of Teju Cole enough, especially the book mentioned above, for it has been a joy to discover.
Take care, everyone, and I will see you next time with the trees budding and with sweeter air rinsed of its cold winter breath.
+ 1 about Teju Cole. I've found Blind Spot to be very inpirational, and have also enjoyed Golden Apple of the Sun and his novels.
Great photos paired with great writing.
I’ve just bought my first Teju Cole book - Golden Apple of the Sun. I’m half way through the essay and can see why you recommend him so much.