Christopher Sand-Iversen - Death Valley
After a long
drive through a cold, barren plateau, you descend into the hot, dry air that
hangs between the mountains in the deep, narrow valley. The sun’s heat is held
in the bare rocks and earth the whole day, long after nightfall you can still
sit in a t-shirt, gazing at more stars than you knew existed. Suddenly fierce
gusts of wind rush down from the mountains towards the valley floor, gusts that
last 20 or 30 seconds, perhaps more. Gusts which blast you with cold air, hold
you fast with their strength, bend you to their will. The gusts return five,
six, seven times, longer and colder each time. And then the night is freezing
cold. You creep into the tent, shiver down amongst thick sleeping bags trying
to keep warm.
photos © Christopher Sand-Iversen
In the middle of
the night you are woken by the howls and yelps of a pack of coyotes close by in
the mountains, your blood curdling.
In the morning
you emerge into sunlight, but the air is still cold. You put on a jacket to
climb amongst the stony outcrops. But soon the sun beats on the earth, the
rocks quickly grow hot. The long, sultry day has arrived.
Out on the salt
basin the white salt crystals throw back the sunlight like fresh snow,
everything is bright, the air brilliant. The camera’s light meter registers the
difference, making it concrete, the 400 ISO film is too light sensitive, but
you try your luck anyway. The salt crunches underfoot, it reflects sound as
intensely as it does light. Your friends are having a quiet conversation 100
metres away, 200 perhaps, and you can hear every word perfectly clearly, as
though they were standing right next to you. Fluvial mud and salt are in places
mixed together, creating hard, brittle spikes you can play notes on, the sound
amplified by the strange acoustics.
Later, when you
step off the salt and return to the road, you realise the underside of your
nose is sunburnt.
Check out Christopher Sand-Iversens works here: http://www.sandiversen.com/dayafter.html
- Robin McAulay.
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