ROBERTA THORNLEY

I Will Meet You There, 26 September - 20 October 2012
"Between the bell ringing for the end of a school day and the 'bible black' of the day's end when my camera can no longer search its subjects out, we would go down to the river. There are rivers everywhere in this town. Even if they cannot be seen they can be heard. They are a constant. And the light is evanescent; we are chasing it.

The waterfalls are as you imagine ... louder than the flow of the river ... its sound is always by your side. It's not until you approach that the river starts to speed up ... and then ... it's on you! There isn't a moment when you are only 'half' in or out of the sound and suddenly all your senses become alive. The water sprays onto your face and it is both cold and soft. You are in front of it and the curve of the water falling is not so tight as to hold you and not so loose as to let you go. Nature is good at this - at holding and releasing in the same moment - the feeling of being pushed forward and gently pulled back in one breath. It always has its way with us and with the things we build. Eventually nature finds its way in.

Then we are in the bowels of a house ... the bright crisp light from outside is searching its way into a cold basement room with tiny windows. Not direct light but, rather, light that arches its way over the roof above and hits the lawn at eye level outside. She stands motionless, stoic and cool; I have never seen someone stand so still. The carpet is cold and dank and will remain like that all day and all night until the cycle comes around again and my socks again feel damp. I can still hear the gentle tumble of water.

I have seen moments of movement in light, gleaming like jewels in the bush between fence and river. I turn away, just for a minute, and when I look back the season has changed. The fir tree whose arms helped gather the light into a clearing has lost its bright green. Somehow, while my eyes blinked, its leaves have turned into blood red puddles on the earth. The curve of the tree that held light in its velvet branches is now fleshless and shivering."


ROBERTA THORNLEY
Auckland
September 2012
';