I spent my monday afternoon sorting through my photographs. You see, my hard drive died on me so I lost everything. I had it partially recovered - a lot of my images are damaged and I've lost the originals. My folders were gone so about 14000 photographs were put in one single folder. Sorting it out, I came across pictures I took in June. This was when I decided to go with J and his family to the Northern Territory. It was possibly the worse trip of my adulthood life. It was also, however, a learning experience. I felt (i apologise for lack of better words...) shit 70% of the time.
During that 30 days, I photographed some bits, and others I did not. I learnt how to distance myself with photography. I learnt how to escape from my situation with my camera. As a photographer, your life is in your photographs. It is little moments of your life, of your world, of how you feel. The people you are closest to become your subjects. They are a recurring face in your little projects.
I remember a few moments during that trip. I was standing on the top of this magnificent rocks, I could see the entire land, it was filled with green bushy trees, red sands. The skies were a cloudy blue. It was an amazing view. Despite what was in front of me, I had the heaviest feeling in me. I felt alone, unloved, empty. I knew that I wouldn't ever be here in this exact place so I decide to photograph despite my feelings. It is not surprising that my pictures were lacking inspiration. They were instead filled with mundane emptiness.
As much as I want to forget these moments, I can't. I've photographed them, they are forever etched into my life, into my memories. I could delete them and they will be gone forever, but I know the feeling of regret. and it is the biggest bitch you will ever meet. I will always remember that day that I did not photographed, the day that completely ruined us. I don't need a photograph to remember it, it will always hurt. It's so ironic because that evening was possibly the most beautiful end. We camped by the sea We've been travelling through desert, on roads built with red sand for a while. I remember walking down towards the sea. It was breathtaking. There were these little salt fragments you could pick up and lick. It was a clear day, the skies were so blue. You could see the horizon line, those little clouds heading to the line where the water meets land. This nightmare started as the sun went down. The sky turned purple, and the softest pink with the bluest blue. The tide started to come in, the wind cut into you. It became cold but it was beautiful.
My memory of this end is clear but blurry because I lost my glasses, you took them with you and put in your pocket. We got into an argument and I remember you walking away, no. It was you running away. I couldn't find my way back to the camp. I panicked because the sun was going down, it was nearly nightfall. I couldn't see where you went, I couldn't find my way back. I sat down the cold sand and cried. Through my tears, the rock salts appear to be like broken glass, mixed with blood. You see, we were in the centre of Australia. It was red. I remember when I picked up a heap and hold them tightly, I was disappointed that it was not glass, it did not hurt, and I was not bleeding.
I remember that feeling because at that moment, death seemed like a better option than being here on this earth. This was only the beginning of that dreaded night.