My intention
this trip had been primarily to go out into Pine Island Sound, to shoot the mangrove
islands. And, maybe back out to the Gulf side of Cayo Costa, where the giant
skeleton trees still stand frozen in place from the moment when Hurricane
Charley made landfall years ago. That
same storm cut a channel through North Captiva Island. People here called it New Pass. But the gentler waves, washing over
successive years, have closed that cut, and what were new fishing banks there
have risen out of the water, land again, forcing the black-lined snook to
choose between the Sound and the Gulf.
Relentless rain and
sand-stinging wind, however, made for miserable boating and image-making
conditions. We get forced to change
course. In sailing you can’t go straight
to the place you want to be. You have to
get there by angles. So, I decided to
explore a mangrove tunnel that I knew I could access by foot, hoping it would
provide some shelter from the elements. An
inexplicable little wooden platform sits just off the side of the road, and
from there you can slide off into the water, sending a ripple across the
long-still surface, that makes you feel so loud, like when you were a kid and
dropped your hymnal in church, and nobody turned to look at you, which is how
you knew that everyone heard it.
I figured I
could slowly wade in with a branch; that I’d sound the depth of each step
before taking it. And, that worked
beautifully. For hours, I traversed the
tunnel, engorged with rainwater, without a drop ever exceeding the high edge of
my waders, bought newly last week for this trip. The sun came out in the upper world, and whenever
the gusty wind shook that dense canopy, a million fireflies of light would
sparkle all over the black water, the mangrove roots, and the leaves all around
and above me. It made light swarms, like
when you’re seeing stars, but emerald green.
Did any of you have to memorize Caedmon’s Hymn in school? Hefen
to hrofa…heaven is a roof, like a Viking ship turned upside down. According to people from a thousand years
ago, we live in middangeard, the
middle yard. Just…in between stuff, I
guess.
I felt like I
was inside a kaleidoscope, in the place where that mirror-based illusion of
light, color, and shape happens. And, I
was level with the mangrove roots that created pattern, somehow, from chance
piling-ups. And then, within almost the
same moment, I had a little misstep. My
weight-holding foot, not holding. My toe
flexing, downwards, trying to stand, trying not to be an idealized form, wanting
to be earth-bound, the opposite of ballerinas in pirouette. Water flooded over, and into, my waders. What had been a pressure, the water pushing
on me from all sides, was suddenly in there with me. That squeezing became equalized, but immobilizing. A friend had actually warned me about this
problem. He had suggested waders with a
quick release mechanism, but at the store the salesmen denied knowing of such a
thing. Oh well; life should come with a
quick release feature. I scrambled,
pseudo-swam, and did get a higher footing.
My day’s worth of exposed film had been on my chest, cradled within the
waders. It hasn’t been developed
yet. Whatever effect that soaking is
going to have, has yet to be uncovered.
Such a great description Cecilia! Considering that your project involves an element of chance, if that's the right way to put it (meaning the weather, the travel, the Holga camera), the film getting soaked in sea water may be the best thing that happened. I'm excited to see how the film reacted to the elements. Maybe it'll bring that much more to the work. A part of the island now lives inside the celluloid.
ReplyDeleteAgreed! This happy (but terrifying) accident surely must be part of the plan. Please embrace whatever manifests and consider it part of the dialogue. you're a great listener of messages that whisper. How can this be any different? Clarity can be overrated--
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