Pasang Surut
Photography
Some weeks pass like a single extended day, some days remain etched in vivid detail, and others dissolve into a blur. Nothing seems to hold still for long. To me, memory feels like a living process, shaped continuously by the present.
I’ve found memories of the potted plants that Dad cares for at home in the changing scenery from the train after a long day. There is a similar feeling of familiarity and comfort in both; something quiet and constant. I’ve also found memories of the same potted plants when I’m sitting by the sea. Nothing in particular overlaps; perhaps it’s the same gentleness I feel in both places. Memories find their way back to me, though not always in the same way I once experienced them, or in the way I might expect to encounter them again. A recollection can resonate differently over time, taking on new emotional tones as it meets the present moment. Sometimes it arrives quietly, like a breeze passing through; something I’ve felt before, but somehow a little warmer or colder, or something I can’t quite put my finger on. Like the tide, these memories return and recede, again and again.
In this way, material image-making creates a kind of distance from the image itself. Its physical presence responds to what’s in front of it, while slowly drifting away from it’s initial form, like remembering a memory. It is shaped by the present, even as it moves further from when it first took place.
I’ve found memories of the potted plants that Dad cares for at home in the changing scenery from the train after a long day. There is a similar feeling of familiarity and comfort in both; something quiet and constant. I’ve also found memories of the same potted plants when I’m sitting by the sea. Nothing in particular overlaps; perhaps it’s the same gentleness I feel in both places. Memories find their way back to me, though not always in the same way I once experienced them, or in the way I might expect to encounter them again. A recollection can resonate differently over time, taking on new emotional tones as it meets the present moment. Sometimes it arrives quietly, like a breeze passing through; something I’ve felt before, but somehow a little warmer or colder, or something I can’t quite put my finger on. Like the tide, these memories return and recede, again and again.
In this way, material image-making creates a kind of distance from the image itself. Its physical presence responds to what’s in front of it, while slowly drifting away from it’s initial form, like remembering a memory. It is shaped by the present, even as it moves further from when it first took place.