I have no idea how the image of the rooftops through the trees appears to others, who might have seen it, by coincidence or not. What it might evoke, if anything. How could I? I just know that it brings back memories of one of my least elegant periods to date. Miserable is no overstatement.
Some ok photographs happened though, during the misery, at least they feel right somehow. Almost as if they are tangible, carry a certain substance, something worthwhile, contrary to a lot of the images made since. A lot. In that sense I’m fond of it. Others too. Like the one overlooking the reservoir with the spruce trees in the background and the lone—what was it—birch? And a few more.
Then it’s interesting to note how the memory of where and when a particular image happened becomes a set of filters on top of it. How the image, a recording of a subject of certain shapes and colours, takes on the associations of the circumstances in which it happened. And time. How time makes it kind of blurry and far away without managing to completely wash it off, the set of filters, whatever they might consist of. And that’s ok.