Two Stories on the South Coast     In early summer, I met Carson McColl. He is a poet, artist and musician from Glasgow, Scotland and grew up by the sea. We found that we like a combination images and poetry and decided to go to the South Coast of England to do this project together. When we arrive it is a hot day. With the grass up to our knees we walk and smell the sea and the summer. The water is bright and shining into our eyes at the beach. All around us is heat and silence.      “The room in blue ruin/the blade lay him open/slowly rocking on the bone Worried of aspect/the blossoms were leaning/set in sunlight/with fatal stones”     There is no wind, and no wave in the sea. Stones with yellow green mosses do not give us anything. We climb the hill. Up there is wind and pieces of white limestone everywhere, contrasting his black garments. He walks barefoot toward the edge of the cliff.      “Silently I stood for absolution There amongst the rapture of the drowned I felt there something like a shadow In states half wakeful; worlds without sound”       words by Carson McColl        A month later, I am back.     The scenery has changed, the cliffs are covered in fog. An old couple walks in front of me. They hold hands and look like they are planning a picnic in the fog. I take a picture of them. They don't climb the hill so we part ways. Slowly the sky clears. Blue appears gradually and the sun is back just before it sets for the day.

Two Stories on the South Coast


In early summer, I met Carson McColl. He is a poet, artist and musician from Glasgow, Scotland and grew up by the sea. We found that we like a combination images and poetry and decided to go to the South Coast of England to do this project together. When we arrive it is a hot day. With the grass up to our knees we walk and smell the sea and the summer. The water is bright and shining into our eyes at the beach. All around us is heat and silence. 

“The room in blue ruin/the blade lay him open/slowly rocking on the bone Worried of aspect/the blossoms were leaning/set in sunlight/with fatal stones”

There is no wind, and no wave in the sea. Stones with yellow green mosses do not give us anything. We climb the hill. Up there is wind and pieces of white limestone everywhere, contrasting his black garments. He walks barefoot toward the edge of the cliff. 

“Silently I stood for absolution There amongst the rapture of the drowned I felt there something like a shadow In states half wakeful; worlds without sound” 

words by Carson McColl

 

A month later, I am back. 

The scenery has changed, the cliffs are covered in fog. An old couple walks in front of me. They hold hands and look like they are planning a picnic in the fog. I take a picture of them. They don't climb the hill so we part ways. Slowly the sky clears. Blue appears gradually and the sun is back just before it sets for the day.

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