I’m posting from the road these impressions of a winter weekend spent at Kabini.
Winter light, as Bergman imagined it, has that quality of breathing beauty into the frame. Oftentimes, it is convenient to yield to colour, to be seduced by it. My dilemma was diluted by a cruddy, overcast sky the colour of pale buttermilk. In it the light seemed to dissolve itself, peering out of chinks and cracks. I ignored the subtle suggestions of colour and my decision became not circumstantial or accidental but one of artistic choice. Monotone, I chose.
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