The Problem of the Moon
The Problem of the Moon is a multi artist exhibition at the Art Gallery of Southwestern Manitoba. It runs from April 4 th to June 8th. Opening night is Thursday April 4 at 7 pm.
Curator Lucie Lederhandler: “Each of the artists in The Problem of the Moon recognize the immense burden that the moon carries as a metaphor with mass”. I have two photos in this exhibition that will be backlit to simulate the experience of the moon shining towards us. Both are printed on translucent media thanks to the skill of Rob Lovat at Keywest Photo. One will be presented in three panels for a total of 120 inches wide and 80 inches high. I have printed large photos before, but this is a new adventure. The second photo is printed about 60X45 inches and will be lit from below on a light table.
Why these two photos? I sent Lucie a number of photos of the moon, from more documentary to more mystical. These are the ones she chose, and I am very happy with the choice since they both have a mystical feel.
Moon over Long Beach
The natural world is where I feel most at home and most myself. I have always had jobs that let me spend a lot of time outside as well as hobbies like hiking and canoeing. I bought my first serious camera in my early 20s. While I took family and vacation photos, the ones that I was really interested in were those that captured the wonder of the natural world.
In 2000, at the peak of my research career, I had a back injury that led to an unsuccessful surgery leaving me in pain beyond belief. I helped my graduate students through their theses, tried to tie up loose ends, and retired early.
The first few years of pain were unbearable, but somehow I found peace beneath it all. Transcendence really. I found a place of deep connection to nature and to myself. I dropped all beliefs since they took too much energy to carry. I could literally feel the heartbeat of the earth as I frequently slipped into deep meditation to survive. Most of my demons came to visit and there were more than a few dark nights of the soul. However, underneath it all was a deep sense of peace and hope. Hope was making sense out of life rather than clinging to a notion of perfect recovery.
Moon over Clear Lake
So what does all of this have to do with the exhibition and my photos. The photo of the moon over the island and the ocean summarizes my connection to nature where I am at my best. After years of thinking I would never be able to walk more than a hundred meters, let alone carry the weight of a camera, I now revel in wild places and soak up the wonder and awe of the great mystery of life.
Taking the photo was an amazing experience. In hindsight, the photo could also be a metaphor. The island is stationary while the ocean and clouds are moving. Above are the stars, constant in time and space. There is the moon, changing daily in its cycle yet constant in the variations of light that it brings. Being in that place, feeling the waves hit my legs, smelling the ocean, hearing the waves break, was something I never thought I would experience again. In the midst of it, I was in a flow state. In part, the dance of technical photography with the intuitive feeling of composition. And in part, a deeper sense of being. I was the island, stationary while nature moved around me, open to the sky. In many ways similar to my years of recovery, stationary as the world past me, free to become aware.
The photo of the moon rising over Clear Lake was a similar moment. I stood on the beach waiting for the full moon to rise. Suddenly it appeared above the trees rising through the clouds, reflecting the light of the recent sunset. Yet for a moment it looked like the moon was setting, burning through the clouds, a red orb descending into the lake. Magical, fleeting, rich in colour and motion, full of mystery, yet so natural if we only take the time to observe.
When I am in places and moments like this, I let go of expectations, mine and those I perceive others have of me. My camera is a tool of exploration. I like being in places that most don't go, much like my years of pain. Solitary, yet with deep peace and connection.