Half of what falls is never seen by anyone.
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500gsm · 100% cotton · Hahnemühle Photo Rag · Archival pigment inks · 6 × 18 cm · Matte finish.
Cascades series · 19 of 20 different sets.
Catalogue Nº 092 of 100.
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The leaf that lets go on a windless morning when nobody is in the garden. The book on the shelf in the empty house, sliding off two centimetres a year. The single tear during a film watched alone, that nobody including you keeps very long. The water in the pipes of an empty hotel, doing its work all winter for the next paying guest. Most of what falls in the world happens with no audience. The water keeps going, asking nothing.
This narrow waterfall lives between two walls of jungle in southeast Asia, several hours from the nearest town worth naming on a map. The moss has eaten everything that could be eaten. The water has been falling like this for as long as the moss can remember. On any given afternoon, nobody is here.
Sits alongside Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad, State of Wonder by Ann Patchett, or any book read where the noise of the world stops at the edge of the page.
You hear a waterfall before you see it. The sound arrives from a few hundred metres away, lifts the trees a little, and gets louder as you walk in. Then the air changes. It gets cooler, the leaves are wet, and a fine mist settles on the lens and on your face. You stand at the foot of it for a minute, then five, and after a while you notice that the sound is not noise. It is white air, and the rest of your head is starting to clear.
