Stories from Light and Darkness
It’s always interesting to me to discover what photographs capture my attention or act as the inspiration to write. I’m sure, as those who read these few words, you’re probably wondering the same as what appears doesn’t always match what is written.
Life is poetic, messy with disjointed thoughts and discourses, prone to run this way and that, leap across vast chasms of unbelief into uncharted territories of philosophy and discovery. As such, it’s a writer’s duty (and a photographer’s, as well) to shape a narrative around what is seen to highlight the unseen as well.
Not everything is gentle, wholesome, appealing. Sometimes the lack of what presents itself is more telling, more damning, more aching than what is right in front of you. An empty set of swings, light and dark, is as much a story of death and loss as it is about the realities of children being in school versus a public park here in København.
I’m intrigued by these unseen stories and the narratives derived from them as I believe this world has much to offer us amidst the light and darkness, the fullness and the void. We need only scan the top headlines of any journal or newpaper from around the world to understand its rippling effects. We are surrounded by so much darkness that the light seems an inconvenient truth, something wanted and longed for but just that much more out of reach.
I’m wrapping up much of what was a busy several days in København in these narratives and, even from within the shelter of a country and society where order is de rigeur, I find much that leans into this narrative of darkness and light. It’s apparent to me that, regardless of location, I can always find a device, an instrument, an illustration, ripped from the streets around me, to tell the story of our human condition.
As I look forward to the new year, I’m already engaged in planning for the next stories to tell and the people to tell it. Circumstances have placed incredible people (that includes you) in my path and I’m excited to see where we can build something even more incredible. If all goes to plan (and what ever does?) perhaps you’ll see even more of the Faroes and its people, more of the stories about how society and technology collide, more about our sacred responsibility to care for the Earth, her creatures, and the people who are involved.
Until then, you’ll have to suffer through more of my back catalogue of photos and stories but, dear souls, it’s a journey worth taking. I hope you, upon review, find your narratives from this past year to be inspiring to future planning, to the blinding hopes of new adventures.
May it ever be so.
