When you are out taking pictures, it is not that you have figured something out and want to tell the world about it; and it is the pictures that will lead you to that understanding.
I took this series of photos just before I left Kent County (England), where I had been living for two years, to return home to St. Petersburg. For a nubmer of reasons, I ended my stay with a sojourn in Harne Bay, a smoll town on the coast of the North Sea, and it was exactly forty days long. Before that, I had gone to the seaside every weekend, traveling by bus from canterbury, and had taken long walks between the coastal towns. In the 19th century, this part of the coast was considered one of the best seside locations for Londoners to spend their holidays, and they fled here to escape the noise, the dust and the smells of the city. Being so close to the sea allowed me to observe the rise and fall of the tides every day.
Walking along the shore, I could see how in as little as an hour the water could change its level, and how several hours later everything looked completely different. Wide expanses of damp sand with shells on it opened out before me, and certain low spots with shells on it opened out before me, and certain low spots with stone in the middle of them were still full of water. Somewhere in the distance, the waves were pounding, they were pushing and pulling, but with each surge they reached a new line. Little by little, they once again approached the original shoreline, hiding everything underneath them. The tidal cycles are defined by two high points and two low points every day.
Just as with the sea, we have our own internal high and low tides. But our feelings are governed by their own laws, and our emotional tides ebb and flow, gradually subsiding. This is not a smooth process; it is, if anything, uneven.
These days helped me to understand and to articulate my visual perception of provincial England. To take a last look at the country. Or rather at the County of Kent, which had been my home for two years.