Winter is not officially here but its spirits are certainly felt already. The changes in light immediately draw me back to black and white photos. I feel like it can be a waste to loose the extra layer of information color can hold during summer, so I can’t bring myself to black and white photography as much at those times.
In winter though, the whole world looses its color for the most part and a colorless shot can underline that reality so well. When even the trees decide to present themselves in their skeleton form, who am I to color in those lines? Nature demands to be monotonous and reduced to its essentials — the peacock feathers are tucked away safely, signaling: don’t mind me right now, please.
Even when you do spot a hint of color somewhere in a little corner that hasn’t endured the full raw force of the cold, the shades are muted and numbing. It’s unrealistic to draw inspiration from a perishing life. So I won’t. I will abide by the boundaries our solar system imposes. Which means, winter is a spectrum of many shades of grey and black and white are its extremes.
