Walking Commentary
Manchester to Rome 2022
As a reflection seismologist, I spent four decades reducing sound echoes into visualisations of rock formations long buried from view.
As a photographer, I seek to capture incidents that might not otherwise be seen.
As a rambler, I try to emulate reflections: they leave no trace.
“The most important question we must ask ourselves is, ‘Are we being good ancestors?’”- Jonas Salk
One square kilometre of water bounded by some 1.5 million cubic metres of hewn rock, Dún Laoghaire Harbour was the the largest man-made harbour when the world popultion reached 1 billion.
My idea for Quarried could be described as a series of exploded views of the one scene, mirroring the way the rock itself was excavated. The harbour in Dun Laoghaire, for example, needed to be visible since the gap in which it would appear was what it was made from. The two harbour piers and that of the South Bull Wall were made from the now absent prominence, a hill that was once higher than anything that survives today. The South Bull was also
I had an idea, a simple concept and like photography itself, it took years to be realised. My concept was that one photograph could be interrogated to reveal many stories, each distinct from the main image. Like a book has chapters, and chapters have paragraphs and sentences, the fractal potential of the image could be explored. It wasn’t dissimilar to creating and analysing geological cross sections with geophysical data, something I was involved with for most of my career. I like a challenge but creating Quarried, the April chapbook, turned out to be more difficult than I anticipated.
‘Landscape photographer Michael Kenna said that he tries to ‘invite viewers into the frame to imagine, experience, sit awhile, meditate, be calm and quiet for some moments, before returning to their busy activities.’
At last, Dublin latitudes are benefitting from sunlight. We see that in a bed of Brunnera macrophylla ‘Jack Frost’ planted for over a decade under a canopy of trees in the front. Some passers-by have told me they are siberian bugloss ‘Jack Frost’. I’ve also had conversations with passing architects and keen gardeners who don’t know its name. They paused to admire the silver-frosted, heart-shaped leaves detailed by veins and edges of jade green. We have come to think that the perennial appearance of sprays of small, bright blue flowers are the confirmation that spring has arrived. Confusingly, after a decade of reproduction and expansion, some of the frost is disappearing. Warming?Dehybridising? Unevolving? Regressing?
