Dispatches from Yankeelandia: Kenopsia and Stillness
The ebbs and flows of people living in New Jersey is really something to behold. When I first moved out to the shore last summer, I tried to visit some of the beaches. Some days it felt like an Act of Congress was needed to just to get a decent parking spot. Now, in the winter months, it feels largely like a ghost town in some parts.
A few weekends ago, I visited Long Beach Island just to see what I could find. As I drove over the bridge and onto the long narrow stretches of town, I was struck by how beautiful the streets, the beaches, and restaurants were - and also how empty they were.
It reminded of me of a word I learned a few a years ago: Kenopsia - the feeling that a once bustling place is now empty.
I spent the afternoon photographing the waters along the beaches and docks. In the great expanses of water and land on which I now found myself, there was plenty evidence that were here but not many people to see. In lieu of that, I experimented with shooting the water, and the buildings and the birds.
Truthfully, I’ve never particularly enjoyed shooting landscapes and nature. There’s an art to stillness that I am not naturally blessed with. Moving into and out of situations quickly, during weddings, events, and even during portrait sessions is comes much more easily. Sitting there in the calmness of the late afternoon sun, the stillness becomes something of a necessity - a delicate reminder to wait without worry or expectation for something to happen.
