Sea Calling
Some years ago — never mind how long precisely — having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen, and regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off — then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball. With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me -Moby Dick
Today, weather permitting I will continue to experiment with my newly acquired Twin Lens Reflex Camera. I will be Driving out to Prout’s Neck, a tiny little peninsula town on the coast of Maine. I have been extremely lucky to have spent a part of every summer since I was born out in this place. We have a small house there which has been part of our family since my Grandfather was 4 years old in 1917. It was originally built by a Sea Captain as his summer house when the small town was nothing more than a hill on the coast. It came into my family later (when there was apparently some money in the family, all evidence of which has seemingly dissipated since).
If you can avoid the locals, this is a wonderful place to be.
There is something irresistibly mysterious and comforting about the ocean. I think it must be my lifetime of growing up next to the ocean that makes me think I could never live without it. Certainly I could see myself leaving Maine one day, but I could never back myself into some trapped place more than an hour away from the coast. I don’t know if it is just the site of it that keeps you at ease, or the feeling that at any time you could just get on a boat and escape but I have learned to love the sea for one reason or another.
These photos by Joni Sternbach are of surfers as well as the beaches they surf on. Counter to the impressions of surfer culture this work gives a feeling of the quiet harmony the ocean provides. They are similar to the work of Sugimoto in the sense that visual simplicity can create a great deal of drama.
