There are concrete blocks, laid like leviathan bricks. And sheets of glass, set like perpendicular mirrors. Roofs without cornice or fascia, set on walls like tabletops. Lines meet and diverge, come together at predictable angles, sustain themselves with the immutable rules of their design and construction. Any way you cut these individual things into a puzzle, there is only one way they can be put back together.

But the sky shifts and morphs on capricious winds. The human – frail and short lived – is erratic and inconistent. The water is captive to the wind and the sun, the angle of the surface and the displacing steps of the human; it will spread itself out whimsically.

These elements are a parable for a photograph – itself a thing held captive by the technical laws of its existence and creation. And yet one chooses the angle in the same way the sky shifts. The subject is never fully controllable and in the end light is as symbiotic as the water – its effect a negotiation between source and destination. One might break the whole into pieces and put it back together a million and one ways. None, one imagines, quite as pleasing as this carefully balanced equation of the technical and the artful.

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