Love Me Like A River Does
At what point does a fascination become an obsession?
Since the turn of the year I’ve found myself driving out to forests and lakesides, looking for streams that flow downhill at just the right gradient to create the sort of flow I want to capture. I’ve amassed a lot of images already but there’s something therapeutic about scrambling through the undergrowth, up and down the banks of streams, in and out of the flowing water, for it has a magical quality: one moment it’s a mirror lifting your gaze beyond reflected trees to the sky, the next it’s a siren pulling you down into its flow, across the very rocks below. It’s a theme that quite literally brings me to my knees, down upon my elbows, or even flat upon my stomach.
This is how I get close enough to see things the way I want to. To truly observe I need to slow down the flow and only then does the image offer glimpses of the river dance. It’s more than how the leaves and twigs snag in the rocks, there’s the energy, the light, the flow, the eddies and swirls upon and below the surface, be it milky smooth or turbulent. I’ve started to recognise what may or may not create a good shot but the real enlightenment comes with the processing, when - by tweaking the image - I can enhance the colours, make more visible the aquatic ballet and feel the dance.
I’ve discovered that lurking beneath those oft brown and murky waters are an array of beautiful colours, just waiting to be released. The depth of palette is astonishing. Sometimes it’s as if the water wants to race headlong, almost tripping over itself in its haste. When seen again in brighter sunlight, even the light joins in the game, chasing downstream and - keeping pace with the water - stretching out its arms, diving into the submerging waves, creating the curves and lines that glisten. Further on, the water may rush over a rocky ledge, creating a miniature waterfall, with a gurgling and hissing it cascades down onto the surface below. It may glide further to confront an obstruction, be it boulder or branch, it’s action unwitting. It may crash against it, or, guided by preceding flow, swirl around it in graceful arc. There is almost a violent energy to behold in these dances, everything scaled down, nothing choreographed. It’s a wonder that some objects remain trapped when the rapids rage, gravity is hard to defy. However the same force that urges them on serves also to pin them down against the rock and the fast flowing water passes over, ready to plummet down again, folding in on itself, only to resurface and be spat out in a foam of bubbles. Occasionally the water drifts into a slower side channel, perhaps even lazing in momentary pool. It’s here, aerated by previous commotion the water may bubble and burst, for a moment or two providing some mirror for lens of stooping photographer. The depth is not a constant, some fast flowing channels may carve out deeper courses but elsewhere the water is just a thin veneer that serves to cleanse and magnify the image of stones and pebbles below, offering rare colours to match polished gems. Such treasures are of little importance to the water however, it has no time to dwell and admire, for the river has but one true love: the journey’s dance.
I was reluctant to post more shots in case others didn’t share my fascination and found them a bit boring. Until, that is, Batsceba did such a wonderful job of making a video with some images from my original blog and many new ones from subsequent trips. I am, as ever, indebted.
