The Fragrant Shadow of That Day
Photographs are strange things; beyond the logic of whether they are good or bad, or how high the resolution is, they have a way of freezing the temperature of the air at that moment and bringing it back with them.
I have a special attachment to this one in particular.
The tension that makes the back of your neck tingle and the scent of the humid, hot wind at the end of summer are sealed right into it. Or so it feels.
The focus is incredibly soft but I have a fondness for it.
Actually, this is the commemorative first shot I ever took after asking someone to be my "model."
There is no refined composition, no calculated light. It is just the raw, fresh tension that was there, and a moment of summer about to end, burned into this piece of glass.
That is precisely why this soft-focused shot is so dear to me, and why it speaks to me with such vivid "temperature."
Imagining the weight of the control stick they will hold tomorrow, they immerse themselves in absorbing the language of the sky into their bodies.
Behind the glamorous pilot uniforms lies this kind of plain, earnest, and utterly lonely time spent at a desk.
By the time the twilight covers everything, the clear, vast sky of tomorrow is likely already formed in their minds.
People say, "There is no night that does not end."
Don't be ridiculous. What I am wishing for with all my heart right now is a "Sunday that never ends." I wish the sun would just stay still right at the horizon, and the very concept of tomorrow would vanish to the far reaches of the universe.
Layering words over a single photograph.
Perhaps it was not just to record the scenery of that day,
but a process to confirm once more the warmth of the sunset left on my skin, the scent of the tide tickling my nostrils,
and the wordless emotions that dissolved into the sound of the waves.
What the lens captured was merely light and shadow.
But when you clear your mind and focus on it,
the time that had stopped suddenly breathes again.
Embracing the atmosphere of
that day, which is on the other side of the photograph—a time that will never return, but was certainly there.