The Lake District is a small, intimate region. Areas of water are enclosed between undulating hills and at a first glance everything appears tidy and sleepy. The dynamics and drama of William Turner’s paintings remain hidden somewhere on canvases in a gallery. The bright sun from the early morning practises photographic torture.
After a while the hidden, at first unseen, inner proportions of the area start to take effect. The landscape is dominated by a magnificent sky, and thanks to reflections on the water, a vertical plane opens up, bringing an unexpected depth to the peaceful countenance of the surfaces around you. The borders between the water’s surface and the air, between the seen and the sensed, gradually disappear. The shimmering surface sways with regular ripples and in the shadows stones on the water’s bed vaguely appear. Waves, flashes, contours of stones and reflections of clouds merge into a seamless surface as though agitated by brushstrokes in multi-coloured layers.
Reflections in the water, backlighting, stone reliefs, submerged images, forgotten stories. So much peace and quiet, and yet dormant dynamics.