Sydney March 2014 (2 images)
“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”
Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore (2002)***
Near the break of an autumn dawn, the relatively calm reflection of the sky in the small rockpool distracts momentarily from the menace of the incoming storm.
As I’ve mentioned previously, I process my images to how I want them to look in colour first. Then I process further in black and white as a separate step. I never use the in camera black and white option. I had no intention originally to take the extra step to black and white with this one, but with the Ryu theme I’m using, the first photo determines the background colour of the page, and if I only had the colour photo it would have been very difficult reading white text on a bright blue background, so out of necessity I opted to indulge in a black and white image a la Ansel Adams. I’ll leave you to decide which one you prefer.
*** The above quote is not about a physical storm. Rather it is a reflection upon an inner symbolic storm, so it also fits in with the reflection theme well. Here’s the relevant passage if you’re interested:
“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.”