creativity

Beauty Lies

/ Saikat / Leave a comment

Beauty lies

In the present, of a future time

A home, in a foreign land

A turquoise lake, in the blue mountains

A library of lichens, on a glacial erratic.

A thicket of flowers, burning in a forest fire

Now, in then

Here, in there

Near, in far

Iron, in blood

Love, in hate

Mutations, in evolutions

Helium, in stardust

Hope, in regret

Magnesium, in geranium

Fragrance, in squalor

Guitar chords, in book markers

Beech leaves, in winter

Hail storms, in summer

Peace, in entropy.

In declamations, and proclamations

Confusions, and conclusions

In tall reeds, reaching for the old man’s beard

The black reflections, on a crimson pond

The revelations, in the revolutions

Ideals, in violence

Luftpause, in a just cause

Mountains in the mist, strangers who kissed

Migrating loons, and paddles under the full moon

Summer euphoria, and college nostalgia

Rainbow ridges, and alpine riddles.

Beauty lies

Not in the eyes, and neither in the beholder.

Beauty lies.

In the space between the words, hanging in the air.

A monologue trying to be a conversation

A holler, drowning into a lament

Arguments, conceiving justice

Answers, birthing questions

Carbon atoms, crystallizing into diamonds

Thoughts, becoming consciousness

Caterpillars, morphing into monarchs

An outlaw, becoming a poet

And a vagabond, always remaining one.

Beauty lies

Not in the eyes, and neither in the beholder.

The eye lies,

And beauty leads to the truths.

Beauty lies

In the space between the words, hanging in the air.

Between “you look beautiful, and you are beautiful”

Between now and then, here and there

Between love and hate, hope and regret

Between spring and thaw, ripe and raw

In creatures void of form, in chemical formulas with chromosomes

In the wrinkles of old skin, the creases of a dear book

In departed souls, taking one last look

In leaning closer, to hear someone better

In chewed up pencils, while writing exams

In nervous stutters, and solemn whispers

In sunlight, on spring greens

In sunlight, on dead pines

In the time to feel frostbites on fingers

Eight and a third of a minute.

“Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine.” 

My forests, my dreams

My hills, my nightmares

My lakes, my gambles

My blue hour, my slumber

My rain, my geosmin

My trails, my holy grail

My light, my photosynthesis

My rose, my little prince

My lilies, my poems

My sun, my name

My land, my home.

Beauty lies.

Not in the eyes, and not in the beholder

But in the space between the words, hanging in the air

Would you let it be? 

(“Beauty walks a razor’s edge, someday I’ll make it mine.” – quoted from Bob Dylan’s ‘Shelter from the Storm)

Ramble in the Woods

/ Saikat / 1 Comment

“All we have, it seems to me, is the beauty of art and nature and life, and the love which that beauty inspires.” – Edward Abbey

I am fortunate to be living amidst nature now, and meet a few wonderful soul along the way. And all I can offer are my words and images to express gratitude.

I met a veteran who has paddled out of the shadows.

And a custodian who has found freedom.

And an old couple who has found grace on Tansy Lane.

And two girls hiking, one without legs and both with hearts.

And I patted a dog who has crossed the Khyber

I met a professor who stops the class for a blue jay song.

I met a student who watches the fog build the world every morn.

And I met another who skedaddles with the wind,

And many more speaking in the rain.

I found a mother who belongs to the mountains.

And a leaf that belongs to the sea.

A cloud that belongs nowhere,

And ten thousand lily pads blooming everywhere.

And love, unfettered as an Adirondack stream.

But you are a beaver, aren’t you?

Ready to dam and flood all the same.

Does the universe need space to expand?

Was the last dodo afraid of humans?

You are not my profession, and I cannot offer poetry, I cannot tell stories.

You are my condition, all I have are my ramblings.

And I do not want to walk beside you.

I want to be your experience.

I want to be your misery, and I want your lies.

So that we can find ecstasy, together we shall seek the truth.

Learning you means unlearning myself, and learning you means learning myself.

Like a piece of land, near and dear;

For when you tame a piece of land, you conquer yourself.

You are not Abraham, you are not Columbus.

You are Ed Abbey, and you are Indiana Jones.

And you sing the song of all the inhabitants,

Of the wind and the sand, from the muskrat to the Muskogee’s.

From the coyote hunting a meal, to the salamander crawling to the vernal pool.

And while the rock shines blue, and the flowers bloom yellow,

I want your lust, and together we shall amble into love.

On this one planet, as a speck of dust.

I know we will not last, but we won’t be lost.

Adirondacks: A Forever Wild Affair?

/ Saikat / 2 Comments

“What is the use of a house if you haven’t got a tolerable planet to put it on?”

                                                                                                                   -Henry David Thoreau

Although the current pandemic has devoured all our attention, and rightly so, there have been a string of other incidents with far-reaching consequences and warning bells for the future. The California wildfires, the burning of the Amazon rainforest, Australian bushfires, or the very recent cyclone Amphan in my home state of West Bengal in India are only a few in a very long list of devastating events. While major events tend to be graphical in nature, many seemingly small issues like reduction in the population of bees or migratory birds, increasing pollution of air and water, rising levels of carbon dioxide, are harder to portray. Until and unless the small changes add up to a catastrophe, we seem unperturbed by the daily variations that lead to the latter.

The Adirondack region of upstate New York is six million acres of pure gem, much of which is protected by the ‘Forever Wild’ clause of the New York state constitution. Every time I visit this place, I cannot help but think that this is a timeless wonderland. However, that is not true. Rampant logging and deforestation almost denuded this place until preservation and conservation efforts helped protect this place. It would also be wishful to think that this place, or any place, will survive without our active choice of living in harmony with Nature. In the current times, when our activities are even more interlinked, the consequence of our actions, however removed in place or time, will be felt everywhere. Global warming and climate change do not discriminate; a factory in the west coast contributes to rising carbon dioxide levels which potentially translates into longer summers and dry season, rise in ticks, shorter winters etc. in the Adirondacks.

While I am not an expert on Adirondacks (or for that matter climate change), I have come to love this place deeply and explored it intensively over the years. This has inspired me to write the following photo-essay, depicting a calamitous future of the Adirondacks. This is a figment of my imagination; the photographs are a work of my creative pursuits in this place. Some of the images were made at popular locations, some along obscure trails. I have stripped them to their bare elements, devoid of colour or any other obvious attributes. I have envisioned the images to be about and around the Adirondacks and the lurking issues that can potentially affect the place, rather than pretty postcards. This is primarily a work of fiction and while I would never want such a future, it would do us good to remember that the future reality is probably worse. ‘Truth is stranger than fiction.’ My hope is that this essay will help, myself as well as others, in being mindful about our daily activities and  their impact, as well spark a discussion leading to a greater awareness about the planet, thereby leading to harmonious actions.

It is also important to remember that “Dystopia” is what the privileged thinks will happen to themselves while it is already happening to underprivileged elsewhere and everywhere in this world. I have the time and opportunity to be out and create while not being worried about being lethally ensnared in any of the circumstances mentioned in this essay.

12065 A.D. Wildfires have been raging for about four years. Much of the pristine wilderness of the High Peaks is all but a memory. Thick smoke blankets the Adirondacks. A thin sliver of the forest in the horizon is now burning at a rapid pace. All efforts at containing the fire have now been deemed as a lost battle.

2It all started on one of the last clear Spring nights in 2061. People now fondly recollect the stars they witnessed that night, oblivious of the fact that this would probably be the last in their lifetime. A decade from this night, the mountain named ‘Whiteface’ is now considered a misnomer.

3The clear night soon turned cloudy with the approach of dawn. This was becoming an increasing occurrence due to smog and air particulates from surrounding areas. The Adirondack lakes did put up a fine show of mist. Only this time it lingered on longer than usual. The Sun was finally able to pierce through the blanket, about three hours after its stipulated time.

4The clear and cloudless stretch of a mild winter with minimal snowfall of 2061 had finally showed its fangs, thus confirming the fearful suspicions of the ecologists. A small spark in the forest floor at the beginning of Spring soon started a cascade of wildfires. The source of this spark was never confirmed.

5The fresh foliage, however little that bloomed in the short-lived Spring was soon reduced to ashes leaving the denuded trunks to bear the burden of shame. It did seem as if ‘winter made its way back into invincible summer’.

6The farmlands, a source of livelihood for some residents, were doomed; all that remained was a sore to the eyes, and one that would soon make its presence more literal in the hungry bellies.

7Wildfires that started in the higher elevation soon led to rampant soil erosion and water runoff in the lowlands. The temporary yet sudden flooding downstream submerged the surrounding vegetation. Unable to adapt, many trees, already defeated by fire in the higher elevations, now acquiesced to the power of water in the low-lying areas.

82068 A.D. The pristine rivers of the Adirondacks now move slowly, weighed down by the mud and decaying vegetation from the erosion of their banks. The Sun can be hardly seen anymore through the smoke, making the surface of these waters dark and foreboding.

imageA lone beaver faces the flooding.
In the only way he has ever known.

9In some shaded areas at the higher elevation, there are miniscule patches of snow. Under normal times, they would have melted into slush and mud, slowly making way for grass and wildflowers. Now, in the absence of light and warmth, these small patches are waiting indefinitely for resurrection.

102070 A.D. The loons have completely shunned the Adirondacks. A few unfortunate ones that are trapped, unable to find their way back through the haze from the wildfires, are awaiting an inevitable fate.

11The watering hole that was once a favourite destination of the iconic moose is now undrinkable due to high concentrations of sulphates and iron oxides. Moose sightings were always rare in the Adirondacks and they are now believed to have been extinct from the area.

122071 A.D. After a period of continuous burning for ten years, the wildfires are finally starting to subside. After scorching through the entire forest preserve, it has run out of fuel. The thousands of miles of waterways also helped halt its progress, long after humans had evacuated the region and gave up the fight.

132101 A.D. A generation has grown up on rich stories of a place that was. Another generation has breathed their last with the dim hope of going back to add one last chapter to the story. But they were disappointed. As was the place with them.

Now, three decades hence, in the absence of prying eyes, a lilypad springs into life in the waters of the Adirondacks.

Hush. Let it be. Forever wild!

Thanks to Jordan Craig (https://www.instagram.com/jordancraigmedia/) who spurred the thought for this series while we were discussing about the show ‘Chernobyl’ and the editing techniques used therein to showcase dystopia. Thanks to Nikhil Nagane (https://www.niknaganephotography.com/) for reviewing some of these images and providing suggestions. Both of them are excellent photographers and you can find their work in the above mentioned links.

Forward to the Past

/ Saikat / 4 Comments

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You took the first portrait of me. I was just over a little year old, probably sleeping when you clicked the photograph. My family did not know, quite possibly only a handful of people in the world knew about it at the time. It was a little secret that I discovered close to three decades later. Better late than never.

I was not alone in the portrait. The person who introduced me to books, the teacher who showed me the path to a good life, the friends who went along in stupid adventures, the love, and the heartbreaks- all were in that portrait. And so was a Dusky Seaside Sparrow, probably returning to its nest in the glory of a Florida sunset. The gentle giant Sudan was drowsing in captivity in a foreign land. The Saint Helena Olive was in full bloom with its pink flowers. A school of Baiji Dolphins were frolicking in the Yangtze River. I rode the bicycle for most of my daily activities. Disposable cutlery was unheard of in my family. Life was unhurried while you approached the edge of the solar system.

As you continue into the infinite darkness, Sudan has since been freed. But alas, he has breathed his last. And with him has dimmed the hopes of an entire species. The olives eventually met the same fate as an exiled emperor. The dolphins of the Yangtze have not whistled in years. Three decades and seven thousand miles later, I witnessed the first light on a surreal place. A glimpse into what the Earth must have been in its prime. An automobile is now a necessary part of my life. Plastic straws and styrofoam containers are not too uncommon. I have changed. We have changed. The memory that you carry of us- is but a memory. The blue dot from your younger days has become paler over time.

Four decades and fourteen billion miles hence, you do not need to take another portrait of me. But the sparrow can find its nest again. We might not be able to reverse the clock. But we can keep it ticking. And your swan song can be our overture. We are significant because we are insignificant.

 

Epilogue

When the steaming cauldron, that once held the primordial soup,

From where the sugars went right,

And the amino acids to the left.

Life found a middle ground, evolving over eons,

Till the ‘intelligent species’ took over.

And the cauldron started to spill.

Too many cooks indeed spoil the broth.

Because we need the sun at night,

And the blinds by daylight.

Have you ever paused at the phrase ‘fossil fuels’?

How we built our lives, entire civilizations from Her graveyards?

Without mourning, without reverence.

But Her heart weeps

With the melting glaciers.

When shall we learn?

That when there is nothing left to burn,

All will burn.

And when the dust settles,

She will be ready with more love, and fuels.

But who will be there to receive it?

(Or it might be that the fact we are not trying to stop the madness is actually Nature’s

survival tactics? Maybe the only way to reset the environment is by extinction of the

human race that depends on us not caring about it?)

 

A humble tribute to Voyager I and Carl Sagan on Earth Day, with the dream of a better world.

Do I See?

/ Saikat / 2 Comments

Chakraborty_S_Temple of the Sun

Do I see?

Needless to say, there is a basic premise, a singular point (if you will) from which landscape photography originates, that is an appreciation for the landscape. Whether you have the eye for natural beauty, adulation, if not reverence for the grand design all around us! Do the crimson hues of twilight excite you; do you take a drive to the hills, if only to take a break from the urban drudgery? If so, then all hope is not lost.

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Can I show what I see?

From Wordsworth’s poetry to Zachariah Mutai’s duty, humans are capable of love for Mother Nature in myriad ways. But in this context, we shall limit the discussion to photography. To merely capture what you see, to ‘represent’ a landscape as termed by many artists, all that is needed is technical proficiency. If you know the basics of your camera, you are guaranteed an image. In some instances, especially when visiting iconic locations like Mesa Arch at sunrise, you probably do not even need to master composition. The scientists and the engineers behind the design of the camera, pushing auto-focus and ISO to extremes, are probably the ones being creative and not you, the person using the camera.

 

Chakraborty_S_Transition

Do I feel?

Ah, feelings! A slippery slope to ascend. Or descend. Shrieking with excitement at the reflections of pretty twilight colours on a clear lake- is that enough of a feeling? Or when your feelings are not limited to one particular sense, when you can smell the mist while shivering in the crisp dawn, standing knee deep in water while your pupils dilate with the rising sun- would you say that then you have felt something? Would you then claim that you feel what you see? Or is it when you are staring at barren rocks stretching for miles into the horizon in the flat light of the hot desert sun and yet you feel nothing but joy, photography be damned, because you know this place like a friend?

2_Rock Alchemy

Can I express my feelings?

Now that you know a place, more than an acquaintance or a customary ‘nice to meet you’, you can connect to the place at an emotional and spiritual level. And the connection is not limited to a reactionary one- a gorgeous alpine sunrise that you witnessed after a personal loss might produce a melancholic hope, a forest charred by wildfire might fill you with grit to go all the way, standing on the edge of a canyon and staring into the abyss might make think that you matter too, at this moment of time, if only to yourself. And if you can express this connection through pixels and photons, you will produce something that is more than a photograph. You will make an image of yourself, shaped by the synthesis of the individual and the landscape.