The All-Knowing Seagull
It’s a quiet day, and I’m feeling content.
The sun is pouring in. Music is playing. I’m at my computer with things to do: prints to produce, photographs to look at, gallery submissions to make. I’m enjoying retirement. That doesn’t mean I’m slowing down. In fact, I seem to be busier than ever. The difference is that now I’m doing things on my own terms.
The dogs are downstairs, keeping guard over the house. Audrey is in the next room working on her macramé. Penelope is walking back and forth, checking on both of us. There’s a comfortable feeling to the day. Nothing urgent. Just the small sounds and routines of being at home, with time to work on the things that matter to me.
I’ve been reworking some older photographs, and this is one of my favourites. It was taken early one Saturday morning, when it was just me, the beach, the water, the building and a seagull.
I was about to take the photograph when the gull landed on the roof and seemed to pose. I don’t remember thinking much about it at the time. I saw the bird, saw how it completed the scene, and made the picture. Looking at it again now, I find myself thinking of the gull as an all-knowing presence: a spiritual messenger, perhaps, or a guide at the edge of things.
There’s something liminal about this place and this moment. The beach sits between the land and the water. The day is just beginning. The building is there for a purpose, but for a little while it’s quiet and empty. And then there’s the gull, balanced above it all, looking out over the shore as if it knows something the rest of us don’t.
I don’t know what the bird was thinking, of course. Maybe it was only looking for a good place to rest. But photographs can hold more than what we know for certain. The gull gives the scene a presence and a little mystery. Without it, the building and the beach would still be there. With it, the image seems to open up.
That morning, I had the beach to myself. I remember the feeling of being there, with the water, the building and the open sky around me. For a moment, nothing else was asking for my attention. I could simply look and be there.
Sublime. That’s the word that comes to mind now. Prints available by contacting me:
patrickchuprina@patrickchuprina.ca