A hyper-sensitivity of feeling your art connects across the senses The roughness of ancient bark beneath gentle fingertips A kiss from rock-pool water warm against bare ankles
A double exposure a murmuration it’s poetry, the sensuality the sheer never timid beauty lensed so gracefully with such assurance and dexterity
The texture, a waking daydream a cloak of fog, shaft of sunlight A cinematic freeze-frame marked by absence the distance or proximity of pain and recovery
Point and click, your dark-room trick it’s as if you have control over the mountains the birds, the tides or consummate authorship of the nuance you convey
A solo figure in vast expanse an aloneness I recognise searching but serene Lost in the careful creation of an endless mythology loudly reverberates in me
The slow creep of new tissue like quietly vanishing tattoos it’s at your back and haunches as your work builds and soars so far from that place expressive in its woozy warmth
I hear the touch, witness the aroma I exist in awe and quiet wonder A world scatters its knitted beauty a murmuration Little charcoal sketches across watercolour paper
The spine is a map a breadcrumb trail we trace with our fingers but we can’t go back ephemeral and observable only in reflection or a photograph
Dusk tides, an evening deer a crumbling barn, eiderdown snow A swimsuit girl, the Northern Lights a neon sign, a broken rainbow midnight phone booth, stitches in skin untethered and inspirationally free
Your photography is a place I love to visit when I can It’s pure poetry you pen with the light, with your lens A lasting comfort, you translate the message I can’t help but take;
It’s impossible impossible not to love the beauty of this world…
Thanks for reading.
An ode to the exceptional work of one of my favourite photographers; Margaret Durow.