Another view from the No. 1 Line road last Saturday evening as I drove back from a wet walk up the track.
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Posts
6 comments:
You're capturing the mystery and solitude, not to mention cooler temps, I am seriously craving these days! Beautiful, Pete - thank you.
Eerie.
Something about the clear focus foreground that draws the eye, as I try to see what is beyond. Does something to my brain.
"Abandoned" was the word that sprang to my mind when I opened up this page. There is such a sense of loss here, from the arching bramble to the raindrops on the wire. Someone said about an earlier image that there has been a change in many of your photos, that they tell a story about the landscape. This is one of your best.
Thank you, Barbara. :-)
Zhoen, that distinct foreground-background difference struck me, too. It's seldom as marked as that, and I'm glad I took the opportunity for a photograph.
Lisa, I keep returning to that question about abandonment and ruin — what is it about those characteristics that appeals so strongly to so many people? Why do those things haunt me? Maybe (to partly answer my own question, or to extend the question), it's because so many more stories are possible in old, ruined things?
I've been pondering your comment throughout my day, Pete. I think, in some ways this image reminds me of Robert Frost's "Stopping by the woods on a snowy evening" (minus the snow, of course!). There's a sense of loss behind you, and the shadows ahead which are both fearful and inviting(Zhoen, you were exactly right in pointing to that uncertainty beyond the foreground). It's true, of course, that more stories are possible in old, ruined things - but there's also that echo, that grief of what has been let go.
I think this is an image I will come back to again and again. I just love it.
Lisa, you've put your finger on it better than I could, and the more I think about it, the more it rings true of No. 1 Line, for me at least. I've come to know that track, and to a lesser extent the road, very well over the last few years, and every change builds a history. Some of that history contains deep sadness, and even if it didn't, the simple fact of its accumulated weight leads to what I think is a sense of wabi-sabi, at least in its older form. While I can't claim to understand that concept properly, I can't think of anything that better reflects the feeling — except maybe the photograph.
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