I have an essay titled “Inquiry in Wetlands” and a few images, primarily from the boreal wetland ecosystem in the Adirondacks. There are other wonderful essays in this volume from the editors as well as a collaborative gallery featuring images from all contributors.
The publication is free and available for download here:
There are too many curations, much dissection about how and when to release portfolios for maximum impact. This is an attempt at neither of the above except that I have some time in my hands to process a few images, and relive the experiences I have had over the years in some special corners of this place. They were made across all seasons, some alone and in contemplation, and others while running around and having a good time with friends (mostly Prajit). The images are again ordered chronologically for the sake of simplicity.
They say we see what we see and not what is out there, and what we write (or photograph) is what we know and not what we saw. On the other hand, I read this morning that ‘eyesight is also insight’ (from Rudolf Arnheim while elaborating on how visual perception works). Consider these images as hobbling towards an insight that I think truly never arrives, until one has spent a significant time of their life with the subject.
the Green River soothes A soothing moment on the Green River in an otherwise mentally miserable trip in summer of 2020.
first Fall My first time experiencing Fall in Utah in 2020, where much awe got into the way of seeing things as they are.
between the idea and reality First sunset of the year 2021, when I was physically miserable in the frigid conditions but mentally satisfied, and beginning to nurture the idea of a new future.
between the emotion and the response Spring of 2022, when I saw the fresh lime greens on cottonwoods for the first time. Since other aspects of life were somewhat conducive to well-being, I could be more present rather than being in a state of constant awe, and hence escape.
between the conception and creation
falls the shadow
it is still green
on both sides of the river A new (to me) location in Utah in 2023 that is quite popular with photographers but afforded solitude because it was summer.
off the highway Witnessing the summer storm from the safety of the road and rental car; little did I know that the following summer I will be doing a night hike in the middle of one with Prajit.
second Fall A fortunate turn of events led me to experience Fall in Utah again in 2023, this time with fog, rain, snow, and hail storms.
one of those days that makes it worth the while (summer of 2024)
when you see it Thanks to Prajit for drawing my attention to this scene, on our very hot and dry return hike from the overlook. Please check his version on his profile: Prajit Ravindran (@irockutah) Instagram photos and Reels)
the world is kin, but it is only on some days when the cloud hangs low and thick, and any light if at all, is diffused, that i am able to recognize it where there were seventy three trilliums in June now lies ninety five tamarack needles
all my life I have been warned of geography, do not step here, or mingle there if it was indeed so dangerous, how could i live with snow, having been brought up with the sun now history is another matter, yes that would certainly kill, unless you strike first
if i have to constantly fight over geography, and history is bound to be our downfall let us take respite from raping each other’s stardust and take refuge in arithmetic when seventy three trilliums is being replaced by ninety five tamarack needles, with more incoming let us look directly at the stars, being plucked away in patient hurry
i have seen the light bend its path, making the journey from me to you to me i have seen it make it right
the first electron goes to 1s orbital, the second there as well, and the next, to the next orbit, savouring their energy dance, they are on our devices, if there was a bell, the bell would ring, the swiping thumbs busier than our feet
the pines whistle, if they spoke, we will not listen, i know of electrons moving between orbitals, making light for once i want to see the light, not what it does
The stories we tell are often the stories others want to hear. It does not matter whether it pertains to photography or politics or chemistry or community.
Oftentimes, these stories we tell and the ones we want to hear are in harmony. In that case, it is important to just tell the story.
Other times, the storytelling makes us think that we have always wanted to hear that story. We may not delve into the merits of the story because of how well the story was told.
Then there are times when the stories we should tell are not what we want to hear. In these times, it is important that we tell the story as it is. It is also important that we must hear the story as it is. Any suggestions for how the story must be told is akin to censorship. And if you do not tell the story, you will eventually forget that you had stories to tell. And if you decide to not hear the story, you will eventually forget who you are.
Musings from North country 