Inspired by boredom more than curiosity, and cold weather than a desire to free-up disk space, I recently reviewed a swag of images recorded before I began exhibiting.
Such temporal distance affords a certain fresh perspective—albeit mostly of the ‘WTF’ variety!—and occasional opportunity for measured approval. Isn’t that so much of photography’s charm; a sequestered moment to recall time-and-again into the future?
Most images from my foray into the past were from a single journey between Queensland’s Gold Coast, Sydney, Canberra, Melbourne and Hobart. Among them, I was intrigued by the image of a father carefully introducing his young son to the sea, as three bobbing surfers survey their horizon for the next set of waves. Visually, there’s an elegant simplicity to this mise en scène: two familial protagonists and three minor characters facing the strength and vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
But look at that ambiguous sky! Are the clouds clearing or gathering? Tehran lies a tension between lightness and darkness that stretches toward the horizon. And all the while, the ocean's peaks and troughs repeat themselves. It's an allegory for the future's uncertainty; its highs and lows, and inevitable sadnesses and joys. Is that why so many of us are attracted to the sea—a snapshot of the great drama of life? Or am I overthinking the whole thing?