The sound of the grass
"Perhaps if the future existed, concretely and individually, as something that could be discerned
by a better brain, the past would not be so seductive."
(Transparent things by Vladimir V. Nabokov)
I'm sitting on the edge of the cliff. Iʼve left cameras, tripod and bag on a granite boulder. Staring into the abyss, my mind is blank, with no more concern than to pass the time. I started my walk at dawn from the nearest town (Vielha) and after four hours of walking along winding trails I reached this rocky minaret while the sun began to emerge between the tops of Puigcerdá, next to the Andorran border.
The morning mist embraces these endless valleys that collect precious water, like blood leaking from the wounds of these magnificent hills. The light, warm and distorted, begins to dissolve the lazy mist, and I know it's time to photograph this unique spectacle. But I remain still, receiving glittering rays, staring over the horizon, remembering, inventing memories.
The flap of an eagle starting to fly is the first sign of life lurking. I have heard that flutter before and my meditations roll back to a time in the past. Lying on thick grass, on the sloping moors of my childhood, listening to the whistle of the warm spring wind. And the screaming of other children at school. I can still hear that sound of children, far away.
The eagle crosses back across the mirror in which Iʼm immersed, and I decide to fly away too. The colors are tight and insects move the tiny, flexible grassy stems. I'm going to photograph, I muse, the smallest details that I find in the margins of the trail. I pick up the photographic equipment and dive into the freshness of the forest, conquering oblique light shafts that slip between the branches. Splendid scenarios reveal themselves. I start shooting while walking and feel happy, overly happy, and a little crazy.
Link to the gallery: Sounds of Grass
© Text & Images: Jose Martinez, all rights reserved
Autumn, Conflagratio, Pyrenees | in Color
Reader Comments (2)
You are not only an artist with the camera, you are also an artist with words. I can almost say I love your description more . . . . . . .
Great album and title.
You are fortunate . . . .
Happy and crazy :) aren't we all in our own little ways. (I could "see" you sort of a hop as leaving the sight)