Artist Blog

Every week an artist whose single image was published by Der Greif is given a platform in which to blog about contemporary photography.

mg src="https://dergreif-online.de/www/wp/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/11246497_1145736625446131_7381450518811049379_o-1000x563.jpg" alt="11246497_1145736625446131_7381450518811049379_o" width="1000" height="563" class="alignnone size-large wp-image-53240" /> Waking with a start, she finds herself within the moon’s spotlight. A warm breeze moves across them in gusts, meeting him, then brushing across her. Breaking waves echo rhythmically, curtains billowing in a strange dance. The rented room faces the sea, balcony door open, calling her to it. They arrived here late last night, too tired to drive on, a journey without destination or end. Days of driving through winding rainforest roads, warm afternoon rain lashing against the steamed-up windshield. She slides out from under his arms, moving slowly, holding her breath. Slipping out, she closes the door softly. The moon seems larger, closer to earth. Everything feels alive in this too bright night, yet there is no sign of anyone else awake. Pulling at her shirt to cover her nakedness, she walks down stone steps, across the parking lot and now silent road. Cool, smooth pavement meets her feet, toes tracing occasional cracks opened from the blistering heat of day. Her mother had told her she had been born at full moon, the maternity ward so crowded, babies were delivered in hallways. She imagines the symphony of cries like baying wolves, the moonshine bathing bulging stomachs and writhing, blood-soaked-pink flesh in opalescent blues. Cement turns to sand as she runs towards glittering waves. She drops her shirt behind her, eyes never leaving the hypnotising scene ahead. Near the roaring sea, wet sand seeps between her toes. One long inhale calms the cold sting of water crashing against shins, then thighs. Slowed only for a moment, she dives into blackness. A perfect arch with a force much greater than her body usually allows. Hurtling into and through the darkness, everything inside her breathes with strength and relief. She swims downwards and away from land, eyes open, seeing nothing, saltwater entering every pore. Life swirls beneath and around her, invisible to human eyes. As the depths push against her, she swims back up, languidly towards the light above. Stretched out on her back, rocking easily in turbulent waters, held firmly in the sea’s grasp, she bathes in the moon’s glow. Something is shifting, changing. Waters churn faster, a low rumbling building steadily from a far off place. Black clouds plunge this otherworldly stage into momentary darkness, their edges deep cyan and petrol blues, backlit as the spotlight re-emerges. Looking back towards land, she sees the motel a mere outline. He sleeps with abandon, a world away. Low groaning escalates into distant cracks of thunder. Slivers of lightning flash on the horizon with a precision and force that betray their seeming delicacy. She thinks of his scar, of the almost ecstatic joy spreading across his face as he told her of the night he swam in lightning. The rolling waves turn violently, breaking rhythm, no longer a gentle embrace. She should leave now, return to the rapidly diminishing shore, come back to her body, her separateness, lie beside him as though she had never left. Reluctance lingers and she hesitates too long. Raised up, tossed and recaptured, dragged under by a raging weight, her body sags, resistance futile. Every part of her is penetrated, pummelled by the howling sea. Seaweed strangles and binds her limbs. She gives in to the fury, knowing only then will it release her. The skies turn upside down and as suddenly as she had found herself drowning, she is now expelled, thrown towards land. She lies motionless, half submerged, eyes closed, returning slowly. Rain pours down, washing the salt away. And still it clings to her, seaweed in hair, Medusa writhing. She moves steadily. First on all fours, then back on two feet until she reaches firm ground. Suddenly vulnerable, she moves in the shadows, silently letting herself back in. Damp seeps into the sheets as she sinks beside him. Sleep engulfs her as the warmth of his skin spreads out to reach her, pulling her back to here. Esther Teichmann, 2015