Solitude: it's a theme I frequently explore in my photography. Perhaps it is my own desire for solitude that drives it: as a homeschooling parent of two busy children, I frequently retreat to the bathroom just to have a moment of quiet time, hoping that the short ones will leave me alone for just a moment of quiet. Unfortunately, it rarely works and now my children just think I have bowel issues. As solitude is like a mythical unicorn in my own day-to-day life, I find myself drawn to this theme more and more in my work. Recently I spent an afternoon on a beach on the North Shore, and when I noticed this lone woman on the rock, surrounded by a sea of clouds and water, I dove for my camera bag and quickly fired off a few shots before she jumped back in the water.
I see this photo, and I so want to be the woman on that rock at times, sitting quietly and enjoying the beauty of the world around her. I try to imagine what would happen if I should swim out there myself. I know that without a doubt, in a few moments I would have a life-jacket-clad six-year-old at my feet, requesting that I help her climb up, where she would plop her cold, wet behind on my lap and proceed to jabber away about her imaginary worlds of pet crocodiles and flying unicorns. Then a rambunctious 10-year-old would swim over, splashing us, poking his finger into crags of the rock to pester the sea urchins. Brad would climb up to join the fun, looking over the heads of our children to catch my eye in a Never a quiet moment, is there? glance. He would slip his hand in mine and we would sigh a sigh that is equal parts wistfulness for the quiet days of yore and gratitude for this noisy, messy life that we now cherish.
Hmmm...perhaps I don't want to be that woman on the rock after all.