When I dream, I dream of cold wind.
I was born in the Far North and the Far North lives within me still. I was born into summers of endless light, where days ran together in golden circles and the sun lingered for eternity. I was born into polar night where darkness fell like a curtain over the land and infinite dusk painted the snow, glowing, as stars blazed overhead. I was born into no man’s land, a world of cold Arctic air and vast tundra, wild animals and the great frozen sea with its winter ice shifting and groaning in the bore tide.
Light rises and falls upon the Far North in infinite cycles of change. Here, conventions of light and time cease to shape one’s perceptions; the world is instead defined by stories, legends of human experience, of an intangible magic that emanates from the land. Turning towards Polaris, the North Star, a metaphor for the constancy of myth and magic, I discover time and again a single point of stability in a land of fleeting elements. This world begins to fall away from reality around the edges, into another realm.
This is an ongoing project.