I made several images in Brooklyn the other day. I was most struck by this one which I’ve shared for you above. The quiet of it all. The rainy haze which slightly masks the city in the background. The chaos of the broken fence, the trash. The texture of the raindrops on the surface of the water. The barbed wire, with its nearly perfect circular pattern. It all seemed so poignant. As though it were shouting in silence. I’m not sure that makes sense. It isn’t a logical sentence, but I think it has all the right words.
The image has me working on a poem. My first planned poem, if you’d like to think of it that way. Usually my poems come to me, quietly or in a shouting manner and so I write them provided I have a piece of paper or my laptop nearby. I think the title will be called A City so Fiercly Loved. I’d like it to speak about the passion residents of New York have for their city. The spoken devotion and and loyalty they show to their respective boro. Yet when you walk around these places, you see that that love might not be as devotional as you might expect. When there is garbage and disrepair everywhere, how can you say a place is loved?
I’ve spent the past few days exploring Miry Run, which is a small, manmade lake along the Assunpink Creek close to where I live. It’s provided me with some beautiful moments of stunning light this winter season. Earlier today I even watched as two red-tailed hawks flew around and sounded their distinctive screeches.
This has become a favorite spot of mine and Shea, my recently adopted Pit/Hound mix. I walk her along the water’s edge on a long leash. I’m training her to be patient with me, as I often stop to make pictures whenever we are out walking. So far she behaves well, but does always want to be on the move.
Some of my favorite hikes have been during hazy days when the weather might have been a disappointed to other hikers. It’s true, on days where the atmosphere is thick with water vapor you don’t get those expansive views that put your own existence into proportion. However, what you do experience are scenes you can’t imagine are repeated often. It’s a unique perspective, and for a photographer, coming across a truly unique scene in this day in age is something special- something to cherish.
Hiking in less than “perfect” weather can also be an exercise in finding beauty in a scene where you might have to put in some effort. The impact isn’t instantaneous. Instead, it is a phenomenon that builds subtly until you find yourself in awe over something you can’t quite put into words.
For me, the above scene of deciduous and coniferous trees in early autumn, lightly dusted in snow and fading into the haze holds a richness in color and texture that is so striking. This is because it exists in a monochromatic, desaturated void of white fog. The depth is palpable, for the reason that in such a short distance those vivid colors and textures fade into nothing. Yet somehow that quality of fading into nothingness also suggests a limitless expanse.