Unfinished

Unfinished. It’s how all our lives end. Thoughts not thought. Words not spoken. Books unread. Photographs not taken. You get the picture. But it’s not so different, when you think about it, to our pre-life. Unborn. No thoughts to think. No words to speak. No books to read. No photographs to take. Perhaps I like the circularity in that. Better fill the bit in between with something though.

There was a past. There might be a future. There is always a now. That’s where we have to make things count. It’s there. Until it’s gone. But as it vanishes, along it comes again. Another chance to be present. Why’s that made out to be so important? Well, I guess it goes back to how you measure the quality of your time – the more you’re present, the better the quality.

Nice in theory of course. Switching off that autopilot switch isn’t easy though. Best not to consider how much of your time you’re actually exercising a bit of conscious choice. Damn. That’s not a happy thought. Try and unthink that. Give it a moment I suppose and the machine will kick back in. But, as my favourite one-eared painter said: “Great things are done by a series of small things brought together.” So try every now and again to make time. To think. To write. To read. To photograph.

What’s all that got to do with a sea with a wobbly horizon?

Well, nothing really. You try taking a photo that expresses the before, the during and the end (maybe the after?) and the value of now.

The scene is from 5 years ago on a chilly, dank and squally beach in Norfolk. Seagulls circling above. The rush of sea against pebble a littoral hum. Back then, I was staring out at the future. Now I’m staring back at the past. I can relive the moment through the image. That’s the time-unifying nature of light. Makes me think too. The past and the future aren’t altogether that different – they’re seen from different perspectives but, sooner or later, they meet.

Being unfinished is our lot then. But there’s still a beauty in the potential and unfinished need not mean empty. The ongoing moment expands – fill it with your presence as much as you can. Then years from now, you might stumble on an old image that you can still feel as if you were there.