You go down for the water. The cliff goes home with you.
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500gsm · 100% cotton · Hahnemühle Photo Rag · Archival pigment inks · 6 × 18 cm · Matte finish.
Cliffs series · 2 of 20 different sets.
Catalogue Nº 006 of 100.
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There are walks that surprise you on the way back up. You went down because the morning was bright and you wanted to put your feet in the water. You came home with the cliff face that was at your back the whole time, the one you had not really registered going down because you were busy with the path. By dinner you cannot remember the colour of the sand. You can describe every metre of the wall behind you.
On a stretch of north Atlantic, a green-topped sea cliff drops to a beach of black volcanic sand. The light catches the grass at the top before it reaches the sand. The waves do their long slow work on the boulders. Local people walk dogs here on Sundays and barely glance up. Visitors stand still ten minutes longer than they meant to.
Reads alongside Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell, The Outrun by Amy Liptrot, or any book opened after a walk that quietly changed the shape of the day.
Standing at a sea cliff is one of the few places left where silence still has weight. The wind arrives from somewhere with nothing in the way. The air carries salt. The water below moves with the patience of something that has been doing this since before you were born and will keep doing it long after. The body remembers it is small. That is the whole point.
