All we are is everything we take in

A field trip to the Oosterscheldekering turns into a reflection on solitude, documentation, and the role photography plays in making sense of the world.
All we are is everything we take in

Fellow students,

The end of May is approaching and I haven't had a chance to make it over to the coast yet. I recently made a promise to myself and breaking that promise so quickly is not within my nature. I open my calendar app to find a two-day window in my flooded agenda, book an affordable hotel for the night, and continue to commit to the mission.

The coastwork continues

My plan right now is to go on one of these 'Coastwork' trips every month. I've dreamt about walking the Dutch coastline for years now, but these little reconnaissance trips are perhaps a good idea to do first. I've learned a lot in the past few weeks. The Sand Engine close to The Hague and The Slufter (that abomination of a word is apparently the same in English because there's no real non-Dutch equivalent. It signifies a tidal coastal wetland behind the dunes, where seawater regularly enters and leaves with the tides.) on Texel were beautiful first entries.

The Oosterschelde Storm Surge Barrier (or Oosterscheldekering in Dutch) is perhaps an even better example of humans negotiating with nature. At least that's what it seems to be from what I can gather online. The Sand Engine is basically putting nature to work. The Slufter on Texel is humans accepting defeat. The Oosterschelde Storm Surge Barrier is an acknowledgement that the sea cannot be defeated, but a refusal to be ruled by it either. It's a compromise, on both sides. And I like it for that.

The Oosterschelde Storm Surge Barrier: a perpetual work in progress
The Oosterscheldekering protects the Dutch coast from storm surges while preserving one of the country’s last tidal estuaries. A visit to Neeltje Jans reveals a landscape shaped by compromise, engineering and continuous maintenance.

Read my accompanying Monologue about the Oosterscheldekering itself. it has some different images in it as well.

The Oosterschelde Storm Surge Barrier

The man-made island of 'Neeltje Jans' is about what I expected from it. At first glance there's not much to it. Its artificial boundaries are oddly shaped, optimized for functionality rather than aesthetics. The landscape is defined by service roads and windmills but houses a surprising amount of room for recreation as well. It's a weird mix. And that's typically a good thing.

I don't need things to be pretty in order to find them interesting. I have no issue slowing down to truly observe a place. Take it in and get a feeling for it, even when it's not particularly hospitable. I enjoy the challenge of finding the story a place has to offer. Despite how pretentious that sounds. But some words only become pretentious after abundant use by insincere actors. I don't consider myself to be one of those and I have no problem backing up my words with actions to validate their authenticity. 

Things you shouldn't have to say yourself but if you don't, are left unsaid indefinitely. And that's a risk I cannot take.

Solo missions

I'm happy to be out here, though part of me still wonders what it is I'm searching for. But I owe it to myself to explore my curiosity, even when there's nobody else to do it with me. I have never gone on a multi-day trip all alone and so far I can't say I dislike it. Sure, I can go with other people. I like going with other people. Experiences are best shared, as they say. But I find it easier to explore my own curiosities by myself.

The reason for that I've never tried giving any words, nor much thought, to. But I guess I don't want to burden others with my mission. It feels as if I'm 'using up' their acceptance of me, and their tolerance for my peculiar interests. Even if that's all between my ears, I still have a tendency to change my mission to make it fit with theirs. There's always some sort of trade-off. A compromise, in a way. Sometimes that makes sense. For trips like these, not so much.

But I guess being out here by myself is also a trade-off, because there's always a lingering sense of loneliness and sadness that comes with it. One where I am constantly thinking: why I am here? What am I doing here? What is it that attracts me to this place? I keep having to remind myself that the reason I'm here is not because I need to chase some sort of grand goal. Just being out here and seeing the world for what it is, and pointing my camera at that, should be good enough.

And if anything flows out of that then, sure, that would be ideal. But at the bare minimum, I should not stop myself from doing all of this. Even if the point in doing it, is just doing it.

The 'why' behind the reason

So far though, my field trips to the coast have been very fruitful. My work feels good. Like it has a purpose, and the potential of compounding into something bigger over time. Something I've been looking for over the past few years, and have been candidly writing about in this very newsletter.

The biggest challenge in my decade-plus of making images, is figuring out the role my photography plays. For me personally, and perhaps even in society. The fact I like documentation is a good realization, and that taking on the form of street photography at times is what I considered to be the answer to that question for a long time.

But there's always a hidden 'why' behind that too. One I think most people don't concern themselves with. And perhaps my tendency to overcomplicate things is what makes this more difficult for myself than it needs to be. But I can't help but ask, what's the point in documentation if you're not trying to say something with it?

What's the point in documentation, if you're not trying to say something with it?

I have learned to accept myself for always looking for the 'why' behind the reason. Us humans are complicated beings that have the luxury of 'looking away' and 'picking our battles' but at the same time we also don't live in isolation. Everything we do has some effect on the world, even if we do nothing. 

Sometimes I wish I was insignificant and could just disappear. I want to exist. But I wish I could just be somewhere, and teach myself how to breathe properly. Perhaps let my shoulders release their tension, permanently unclench my jaw, and erase the growing frown from my forehead. But I've come to find that's not a real solution and certainly not a sustainable position to hold in our current society. A luxury that only few can afford. And even those that can are more often fleeing from something they don't dare to confront, than choosing it as the lifestyle they truly want.

Doing nothing, being nothing, sounds enticing. But there's not enough peace to go around for that to be an option. I don't speak on politics, world or local. I don't hate or disapprove by default. At least I don't try to. But I realize that might look like agreement, or at the very least sticking my head in the sand in the hope it all goes away. Leave that kind of behavior to the ostriches. But I believe fighting anger with anger only brings more anger. I am both too tired to participate and too soft at heart to let it take control of me.

There is so much love and hope and excitement to find in the world. There is so much to enjoy and to appreciate. There is a lot to be thankful for. But it's so easy to take all of that for granted. As if the baseline of life is exactly that, when in fact our life on earth would be in a state much more dire if we don't continue to fight for what's good in it. Focusing on those things is what highlights the amazingness we should have for all that's good. It teaches others there's a lot to live for, if they adopt a similar way of seeing life. It's what rules out evil as an option.

There's 8 billion of us now. On a tiny blue ball in the middle of a whole lot of nothing. We've come so far, but it's so easy to get distracted by where it might seem we're going. The news is teaching you fear and disappointment only because it reports on negativity and "what's wrong with the world" instead of the wonders that happen every day. A single soul will not change these mechanics but a story that sparks hope, curiosity, and joy just might. So that's what I'm focusing on.

Let me know what you think,

Mitch

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