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I tried to choose my favorite sea photographs and realized the extent of the one's I loved:
Sunday, June 15, 2008
sea sight.
There is a quality the sea carries that makes me want to spread it out across every story I write. My eyes wash over the hundreds of photographs I have taken or have been taken of me. And my favorites are those featuring the landscape of the sea. Is it the surreality of the photographs—fixing two opposing motions at one time—the subjects still, frozen, captured and the sea forever in motion and in pursuit of escape? Or is it because it is ethereal, constantly breathing and airing out, externally calming yet in a constant flux of internal emotion? I know how to experience its essence when writing, but quite contrarily I am not the type of person who takes dips in the water, basks on the sand or in the winter envisions vacations by the sea. Perhaps, if I did not think of South Beach beer bums or having to wear a bikini, it would be otherwise. The irony is that whenever I have spent time at or by the sea, the time has been impressed upon my mind and embedded within my memory. And it is there that my most romantic moments—and by romantic I mean: inspiring, captivating, phantasmagoria, passionate—have been produced. As a result, the sea pervades the story I am writing—which I hope can be read like an extensive simile—and saturates the characters involved. I see how in Manhattan I have grown to miss the horizon where the sea and sky came to kiss. But that is just a metaphor for a time when the two touched, and fell beneath each other once the night curtained the city.
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I tried to choose my favorite sea photographs and realized the extent of the one's I loved:
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I tried to choose my favorite sea photographs and realized the extent of the one's I loved:
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2 comments:
Or the immortality of the sea at night. If you have ever been out at sea late at night, out of sight of all land or light, you feel the immortality of all things around you except yourself. And it is centering. The air, the smell, the big night sky- all flow through you like water and you don't need to be apart of everything forever, you just need that experience that is yours forever.
after the lights have shattered and blown glass, shaped like stars, into the night's indigo dyed cloth.
i feel like the above is the extent to which i have placed my writing self back beneath the night's sky. but you remind me of the world that exists when you can not longer see the sea, but only hear it. your comment gives me a lot to re-imagine and write upon for future work. thank you for turning my sight and thought to a different angle.
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