The Story Behind / Drift
Series • December 1, 2024 • Written by Ashley Vemwell
There’s something transformative about long exposures, how they reveal a retelling of time. What’s imperceptible to the human eye alone. Blending the transient into something eternal. A meditation in action.
The briskness of winter carries with it a clarity, unlike any other season.
Its sharp air cuts away distraction. Each breath feels purposeful. Stark. The crunch of fallen leaves or frostbitten grass beneath our feet speaks of life suspended in time. And then there’s the winter sun—a distinct warmth that doesn’t just touch the skin but somehow reaches deeper.
Winter, in all its severity, offers an invitation to slow down, to observe the quiet. It is, at least to us, undoubtedly the best time of year.
This particular evening along the Salish Sea is etched in memory as a moment that felt like literally stepping through the veil into another realm.
The mainland was cloaked in dense fog, a heavy gray blanket that muffled the senses and blurred the edges of reality.
Arguably, one of our favorite conditions to work in.
But as we approached a specific stretch of shoreline on foot, the dense layers of fog and cloud broke. A large pocket of brilliant evening light illuminated the coastline, a golden glimmer spilling over the sea stumps and across the water like something out of a surreal dream. The water glittered with the reflected sun.
The contrast was profound—the quiet gloom of the fog behind us and ahead, this radiant corridor of unencumbered light.
Naturally, finding ourselves along the water, we posted up to play with long exposures, feeling a strange synchronicity.
The water was alive, not in the chaos of whitecaps, but in a gentle, measured rhythm. Our camera captured time unfolding—the glow of the sun slipping lower while the creatures of the coast quieted.
There’s something transformative about long exposures, how they reveal a retelling of time. What’s imperceptible to the human eye alone. Blending the transient into something eternal. A meditation in action.
That evening, we were struck by how winter sharpens not only the senses but also the scenes surrounding us. The fog held its obscureness tightly while the sun seemed to offer up all with freedom.
After some time perched along the rock, and the sun was giving its last rays, we departed back into the fog, noses pink with cold, spirits enriched, and another story to tell.
Winter is a season of paradox, where the cold brings clarity, the darkness reveals light, and the stillness invites transformation. It’s moments like these, standing along a coastal cliff shrouded by two sheer opposites within nature, that the act of creation feels less like an expression of self and more like a connection with the ineffable.
