Photographs are exercises in two dimensions. Necessarily. They rely on variations of light and dark, as well as framing (foreground, background, rule of thirds, etc) to evoke a sense of physicality, i.e. three dimensions. However, sometimes a photo becomes more.
Beyond its incarnation on a flat plane, there is a sort of subliminal conversation that can happen, which invokes the third dimension (and beyond). Between the photographer and the scene itself, with the camera as a mechanism of translation. In the final stage, between the viewer and the picture.
This image is like that for me. While not particularly stunning, it is rife with sensation. You can almost feel the sludgy, sliminess of the water, the incarceration of the leaves. The corners of my mouth turn down to look at it, such is the intensity of its texture.
Perhaps parts of life are like this, too. A casualty of the grotesque. It’s that thing you can’t bear to look at because it summons a host of feelings, and as a result, a sense of vulnerability, a stripping away of the layers of humanity, thus rendering us paralyzed. But in the looking and the experience, a transformation occurs. Perhaps there is a deeper understanding of ourselves, the world around us. Maybe we can transcend through insight; not only tuning in and hearing that conversation; but also by taking that reflection and turning it (positively) outward.