Art Drop #4: Adirondack Time Machine
Musings on change and permanence inspired by our recent trip to the Adirondacks in Upstate New York.
THEN AND NOW
The last time I was there it was 1987 and I was 5 years old. So much life has elapsed since then, the bold strokes of which involve growing up, working in movies, becoming a photographer, meeting Tom, marrying Tom, losing Dad and becoming a parent. 36 years after I was last in the Adirondacks, with my daughter the same age as I was then, I found myself back at Elk Lake.
Returning there with the family I was born into and the families my brothers and I have each created we somehow continued where we left off, hiking up Sunrise Mountain, rowing out on to the lake, and casting out from the dock. Instead of five people at the dining table as we were in 1987, we were now twelve, and despite missing #13, my Dad, he was somehow everywhere with us on this trip – in the stories we told, in the people we met, in the memories that resurfaced, and in the experiences we sought out for ourselves and our children, folded map in hand. It was joyful, full of adventure, laughter, nature discoveries, physical challenges for all, and priceless moments of connection and independence.
THE PHOTOGRAPHS NOT TAKEN
To be honest with you, I found it hard to take photographs, and it certainly wasn’t for lack of inspiration all around. For me the camera was an impediment to being fully present in that amazing place, and keeping it at arm’s length meant I could soak in the memories as they were being created, observe the wilderness that surrounded us and fully relax with my family.
I didn’t even take a camera with me at 6:30am when my eldest nephew and I rowed out on the lake through placid waters with wisps of clouds along the surface, the loons our only company. We watched the sun break out over Sunrise Mountain and illuminate the High Peaks surrounding the lake with tree-covered islands emerging out of the sunlit mist (“Ohh, that’s why they call it Sunrise Mountain!”). We were hoping to do some fishing and caught nothing but rare time together in a peaceful place where I didn’t have to fulfill any other role but Thia (that’s “aunt” in Greek). It was unequivocally a successful outing.
There was also no long-exposure shot of the Perseid meteor shower lighting up the starry sky, instead I just held our daughter in my arms way past her bedtime on an Adirondack chair on the dock as we waited patiently for the stars to reveal themselves. She saw the Milky Way for the first time and counted eight shooting stars, in thrall at the expanse of the universe before her, something she shares with the grandfather she never met.
SPACE TO BREATHE, CREATIVELY
Luckily for us all, Tom’s first experience at Elk Lake involved toting the camera everywhere and stealing moments down by the lake when the light beckoned him there to take pictures. Each day looked different, and within each day there was a dramatic ebb and flow of weather and light interacting with the High Peaks, the water and the islands. This changeability provided so many different ways of seeing the same landscape. There was also the energy of five young cousins having an absolute blast to contend with – which didn’t always present suitable mental space to take pictures, but I’m so glad Tom claimed some time to give his creativity room to breathe.
I knew he was satisfied with his work when he eagerly passed the camera to me late at night in the dark of our room – our daughter snoozing nearby, already lulled to sleep by time spent under the stars. Looking through the eyepiece of the camera I flicked through the glowing images of this almost impossibly beautiful place, stopping at one photograph in particular for quite a long time.
There is a contemplative pull between permanence and changeability in this photograph, as if the mountains are evaporating into the sky or the clouds are getting grounded into the mountains themselves. Visually manifesting the experience of being at Elk Lake, this photograph is one I can feel deeply. We are very pleased to make it available in this month’s art drop.
Our second piece this month takes a different approach, it is less experimental in how it is created, and instead presses pause on a dynamic shift in weather and light, revealing and cloaking the landscape in equal measure. In some ways these two pieces are companions, yet equally capable of standing on their own.
ART DROP #4
Prints are only available of Dusk Falling & Rain Coming until September 7, 2023, with no further production of this work for at least a year after the close.
"Elsewhere are mountains more stupendous, more icy and more drear, but none look upon a grander landscape, in rich autumn time; more brightly gemmed or jeweled with innumerable lakes, or crystal pools, or wild with savage chasms, or dread passes, none show a denser or more vast appearance of primeval forest stretched over range on range to the far horizon, where the sea of mountains fades into a dim, vaporous uncertainty.”
-Adirondack surveyor Verplanck Colvin in 1878
Thanks for taking the time to read our newsletter – we hope you enjoyed it. Each month we challenge ourselves to capture something worthy of your time and ideally worthy of space on your walls. Look out for our next newsletter coming your way later this week where we will share some of our Adirondack nature sightings with you…
Until then,
Wonderful writing and beautiful memories. And Tom's photos are sublime.
So atmospheric. Very pleased with our ArtDrop prints.