Llyr at Caspian Lake, Summer 2018
Llyr loves swimming. For them it’s a meditation. As I was editing these photos, I noticed the water; the way the glinting light creates glossy oblong shapes, the interaction of film grain with depth and color. I felt myself becoming calm. I think parts of these photos are just so beautiful. It’s not conceptual, it need not be about anything but the water and how good water is. I am reminded of the work of Vija Celmins, whose show I got to see at the SF MOMA last year. Sinking into the water visually while pouring over these negatives, spending time with Celmins’ work- breathing it in and out and in, swimming meditation - these are all connected.
It was the week of the World Cup finals and the first summer of our relationship. They came to Vermont to visit and it was so hot, in the 90s every day. We had rented a cottage on a dirt road in Greensboro, the kind that is decorated for winter tourists with knotty wood accents, a fireplace and a overkill wine glass collection. Vermont is not used to this kind of heat wave, and that cottage was HOT. Everywhere was HOT. I forced Llyr to watch as many soccer games as possible in between adventuring, sometimes two or three a day, sweltering inside with no air conditioning. As a reward we went for dips in the early evening to wash off our sweat and splash around. I wasn’t so much of a swimming kid. I was self conscious and generally scared of adventure, yet Caspian Lake is a favorite place of my childhood. My dad would take me sometimes or I’d swim after camp, first hitting the famous general store for snacks and beach things, tracking sand all around. As a teenager I did contra-dancing at the town hall down the road. I learned to waltz and flirted awkwardly with crushes.
This image is several exposures on one continual film strip without advancing the film enough to separate the exposures. When this method works it really works- here I love the indistinct frames. It was a gorgeous summer evening, but these photos elevate the memory in the way that only a plastic camera can seem to do.
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