These go to eleven
“A sun so bright it leaves no shadows,
Only scars carved into stone on the face of earth”
As a kid I was a cloud watcher. I’m not sure I possess the ability to articulate why I was – and am – a cloud watcher. Perhaps it has something to do with the ever-changing nature of weather, and by extension, clouds patterns. Rebirth and renewal, always something new and mysterious just over the horizon. Clouds as storms build in the late afternoon summer heat, the rapidity with which they rise and tower over the landscape, dark and ominous, or the way a sunset lights up the remnant clouds of a clearing storm with colors so bright and strange as to appear almost unreal – there’s something otherworldly about such moments.
As the seasons change, so does the light. The light of summer, especially towards the middle of the day, is stark and bold, the shadows deep and sharply etched. Not the kind of light most photographers seek out. Yet I’m drawn to this light, because it is representative of my favorite season. As a child, summer meant freedom – freedom from school, freedom from responsibility, freedom from monotony. Freedom from stuffy classrooms, and stuffier teachers(they weren’t all that way, but there were more of them than I care to remember). Summer represented infinite possibilities for exploration, discovery and adventure. It still does. It’s the time of year when I feel most alive.
I never tire of photographing clouds, especially in the light of a summer afternoon. Though no two skies are ever alike, there is still something familiar and comforting, yet invigorating about such an experience. Each time it brings surprises, and reaffirms the power and promise that summer holds for me.