The end in sight but still unapproachable. Limbo. The cliché of renewal held in incrementing the calendar year. We mark the occurrence of our lives in thin pencil rising higher on the doorframe.

Contrary to feeling isolated or without bearings, being enveloped in dense, seemingly endless, growth can evoke safety and connection. The unfathomable scale — build leaf-by-leaf and twisted stem upon stem — places you firmly where you are.

Even this cultivated and maintained garden in Dominica escapes its curators, twisting into a boundless collection of green upon green. Vibrant splashes of colour mark floral end points here and there.

This natural tendency for replication and expansion is frightening if the urge is towards control but uplifting when passions soften into coexistence and wonder.

Bangkok, Thailand — We had discovered the walled garden adjacent to the pharmaceutical college on our first jet lag addled day in the city. It turned out to be some of the only truly self-directed time we had in Thailand and we pushed ourselves walking in the liquid heat.

This view is from behind the college. This strange graveyard for plastic tower PCs and the lackadaisical “guard” dog doing his best to wait out the heat until his food bowl was moved down per some unknown schedule.

Opposite to this view were the bird cages and their possible handlers — smoking and chatting on some benches. Like so many scenes in Thailand, it was part of some unnoticed everyday surreal theatre. But this was real Thailand and I am glad we found it.

There is this continual re-learning that to be known I have to make myself known. To be heard I have to speak. Reminding myself that words unspoken can never be understood feels foolish at 42 but calling the realization trite is just another way of sidestepping — there is no age limit on identity.

To take joy in the voices of people close to me and hope for the same in return relies in part on my willingness to make myself vulnerable.

Taking photos and sharing them with friends and strangers gets me part of the way there. While images can be jammed with information, emotion, and possible narrative they are also a way to hide. The story that forms around an image I compose stays locked inside. The radical subjectivity of seeing means that each image I produce may hint at my intent but the emotions and narratives are left to the viewer.

It’s not that I am disavowing the merits of an image approached without context — that can be compelling in the right circumstances. But again, it is less effective if my goal is to reveal myself or tell my own stories.

Things in balance…
Listen and Speak
Observe and Describe
Empathize and Express