Thursday, March 15, 2012

Thursday, I was giving directions to Keith, my friend Deb's delivery guy (who will probably forever be my delivery guy because he is fantastic), who was going to be dropping of the bed frame, mattress, and base boards. I told him to drive just past the railroad tracks and make the first right.

And I started thinking about railroad tracks and how much they signify.  How for the last six or seven years, I have consistently lived near the railroad tracks, not on purpose, but with no less delight.  How they are both comfort and frustration, both dark and light.  How I write about them and how they serve as muses to many songs and poems.

Trains are comforting to me. So strong and capable of destruction, yet with the comfort of a designated course from here to there and back again. A set destination without detours, without forks in the road to deter to cause for pause and decision. So lulling in their rhythmic chugging. So sleek and powerful.

And it all brought me back to a photography session that Bryan and I shot years ago. The concept for the shoot started with an image floating in my mind of a girl sleeping, apathetically- maybe even peacefully, in the midst of exposure, in the midst of possible destruction. Something about this made me feel accurate- made me feel true.

Our goal was to capture the juxtaposition of something so grand, terrible, and mechanical paired with something so human, vulnerable, and feeling. It combined a restlessness for motion with the stagnancy of being trapped within the confines of the mind- preventing change, remaining still, going nowhere, waiting for maybe nothing.  Both shadows and light had their place and we aimed to capture apathy and hope.

The result was a collection of images reflecting railways and the idea that all change is motion.   And it has been so long since I remembered these haunting images of a past-self and remembered their significance to me.

camera unremembered:  all change is motion
concept by kimberly k taylor
photography by © b. a. s.