My studio has been very quiet in the mornings. Usually, I am in the office chair early since my son is an early riser. My husband is an early guy too, but as an Ocean Lifeguard he has no choice. Since news of the oil spill tragedy in April, we have made a conscious effort to swim and play in the waves as often as we can. Admittedly, I had visit the beach low on the priority list. The Atlantic Ocean has been a constant for me since we moved to South Florida when I was five years old.
My childhood memories, like most, have the good and bad as I grew. But I retreated to the beach and the Everglades as I nursed the pain of growing up with a mother with cancer. Her mortality challenged my frontal cortex before my brain could grasp abstract concepts. The salty Atlantic nursed my wounds.
When she finally died in 1996, having lived with cancer for over ten years, I was living in the mountains of Colorado. I remember, upon returning to Florida, how my ocean trips were healing during the phases of accepting death. Now that I live back here in South Florida, I still feel the same healing, and, perhaps in part to the ongoing parts of her absence.
Usually these days, I am chasing after a four year old; my feelings are mixed with the desire for him to have similar childhood memories of bonding with the Ocean, just as my husband and I have through out our lives. We grieve for those in the Gulf; my son suggested someone take a helicopter and drop buckets of dawn soap in the Gulf. As we wait to see if our coast line is effected by the oil spill, I have continued to photograph the Atlantic's mighty beauty. Color and Black and White. I am thinking on Velvet Fine Art Paper.
Photography, as an emotional medium, eases my sadness. I am not sure if I sketched or painted this same image I would feel the same peace. What is it about Photography that as a tunnel for expression is different than other mediums?
