The Nocturnes
There is usually a shiver at twilight. Not discourse but whisper, blink, innuendo, the intimations of peripheral vision. Nocturnes (in music, in language, and here in photography) are not deep-night-star-turns but are rather, crepuscular, tenebrous samplings of sound or image, perforated and percolated with the porous, shredding luminosity of what were earlier, brighter states (late afternoon) or of what are much darker states still to come (deep night). They are composed of weaker but more determined modes of shine.
The nocturne’s utterance—you can hear all transitions if you listen transitionally enough—is borne upon bubbles, dewdrops, falling leaves, wild wheelings of birds, the outpouring smoke of bats. The nocturne-seed lies within small breakable worlds (bubbles, droplets, gnats, fireflies), hung together, inviolate, by our desire for them.
