by nirlep on Mon Sep 24, 2012 11:19 am
Hi Saurabh,
Some pictures are of the moment. They are born out of its intensity. Some are born out of convergence of times not just across space but across histories including history of art. This one draws from the tradition of impressionist tradition. There was a time when impressionism became some sort of art expletive for it’s over imaginative fuzziness, when art was created not for putting forward a vision but just for the sake of being impressionistic. But here is a moment which is true impressionistic awakening of mind. Things do not stand out as disparate bodies but as extensions of each other.
John Szarkowski commenting on the photograph of a British photographer Frederick. H. Evans writes “Evans forest is not the forest of a botanist or a hunter but of a literary man. It is a sublime forest free of stinging nettles and poisonous insects in the depths of which a man of books might meet all the ancient ghosts of Hampshire”. Saurabh’s shot also conjures up a forest akin to Evans’s. It doesn’t in the least bit look like a material jungle. Birds flying away to their abode touch a nostalgic chord. Expectation of the fleeting forms of birds finding their nests begins to make us fly along with them into their arbour which, in a metaphoric sense is ours too. It’s song of the return to the roots, an exhortation to slow down. Randomness of the jungle shows up as abstracted home; ecological domain where all angularities find rest.
The aboriginal simplicity of the shot makes us relinquish all control and gravitate into its matted space. We get on with the image instinctively. One doesn’t have to attend to it, so to say. Raga in its stage of “Avaroha” descends and folds back contemplatively into the creative root. The gravitational in the image is I think due to “Avaroha” like folding-in depicted in the image. Birds after a long day head back longingly into their roost. Coming back is always effortless. Concatenation of dual perspectives compound the appeal of the shot. We see the birds heading for home. The birds see their home. The photographer saw the birds seeing their home.
What about the jungle which appears to be made up of mutable form, semi-transparent, allowing passage to those who trust. Its pores grey, rough and random afford accommodation for all. The conservative tonal spread of the jungle is as interesting and understated as the twilight hour itself; the hour of fading contrast saturated with unifying clasp of the hour which is neither day nor night. Grey tones matured with contemplative quietude show no rush.
Looking at the shapes and sizes of the birds we find some interesting play of scales and depth perception. Logically the smaller birds are farther away and ought to lead us into the frame from the proximate, larger forms of birds. But the birds in the top row thwart the obvious. Their forms are the faintest indicating that they are flying at a distance. At the same time they are also the largest suggesting close proximity. This contradiction duels with the depth perception in the lower half and in a way flattens the perspective.
Thanks for sharing
