Ted Johnson
Artist's Statement
Since part of my family lives close to the vast and fabled Gulf of Mexico, on Florida's west coast near St. Petersburg, it's become customary over the years for the rest of our little flock to migrate there for awhile every August--to fill up a condo or two on the beach with gossip, groceries, the voices of children, the aroma of sunscreen, splashes in the pool, sand being brushed away, swimsuits drying on the deck, sandwiches, afternoon cocktails, cloud-watching, the making of music, meals shared, the consumption of seafood, summer reading, a game of chess or two, evening walks along the shore, and sometimes, just some leisurely floating in the salty sea.
And yet all the while, just a few yards west of this happy commotion, there remains something more ancient and elemental, something made of sky and sea, distance and solitude--an ever-shifting presence where human beings, in their busy, briefer lives, may sport and play and linger for a bit, before they pass at length beyond the edges of the composition.
This may be why, among my photographs from last August, I've become drawn to those images where my 14mm lens found itself pointing westward out into that great space, with the hum of human voices behind me--out into the tumultuous silence of the everlasting sea--but where, nevertheless, evidence of its temporary human inhabitants can still be clearly seen.
