Darkness as joy is not as surprising as you might think. I recall discovering the beauty of Faure’s Requiem Mass and feeling like I had heard the sound of ecstasy or nirvana and I found myself embarrassed that i had a fondness the dark side of life. I was relatively young when I discovered that the darker emotions had a kind of joy, or a kind of grace to them that the lighter emotions were missing.
So it does not surprise me to find that even now when my life is so full and so exciting that I still find darkness appealing to my sensitivities. I am drawn to the bold ness of the the dark. I feel warmed by the darkness in the same way that that I love the warm tones in a musical piece. I like a poem by John Keats and I enjoy the colors of a sunset in winter when the sky is almost only midnight blue.
What is strange is that I still feel a need to apologize for this propensity. I think I am strange to enjoy the night, but I love the evening as it stretches and yawns its way to a gentle repose. Something about the darker registers that provide soothing, no harsh edges, no sharpness to cut into you…nothing jarring about the dark.
I am not going to pursue this idea any further because I hope that the photos have begun an essay of their own. In a later post I will try to give a more thorough rendition of the joy of darkness. In the mean time I would love to hear some feed back about these specific photos…
Thanks, al d