The Scotland Collection

May 1st, 2025

The ocean continues to surprise me with its forms.

I emerged into the scene slowly and walked along the horizon as though in a dream. It was darker then, and bonfires were dotting the shore in the little halos of civilization, diffusing itself, glowing and turning amber-orange with the naked bodies gathered around it. But the sun was inching nearer, I guessed, dressing up the final touches of its form, having done a maydip of its own. Backstage, as it were, its pale dusky pink light was still increasing so as to efface the glow of the fires and infused its color into the soda-blue scalloped sea. Its shape and variations were ever-changing and ever becoming more wondrous that my attempts to capture it failed. I was vainly, and in vain, trying to catch it at its peak brilliance and wasted several Polaroids in doing so. The clouds emerged from one singular point and fanned out in sheer wafer sheets, as though fragments being exploded outwards in some sort of collision, and settled there as inert, drifting residues of foam. The air of the sky was soaked in pink. It was the heart of a peony, with petals spreading out in benediction, calling us to its bosom.

 The sun emerged from a tiny pinprick of red, then a bright fuchsia. I had no imagery or illusion in my head then. Suddenly a golden lens of light pierced its way into the sea and seeped as far as the nearest grains of sand touched by my feet. The world was being split in two by this light, this immovable, immutable light. The sea and the sky were disparate, but one felt a rapture, and I felt as though I could move between them, that they were connected states, as easy as moving through fog or snow from light into darkness. Their symmetry pleased me. One was reflected in the other, and I enjoyed the sweetness of dual textures and states and forms that each provided in variation. One could never tire of it. My eyes consumed a thousand different pleasures, and my ears innumerable sighs and sounds.