It is the nature of Nature to flow back to its origin
Autumn in Jeju Island is typhoon season. I grew up on the island next to the sea. There was never anything more electric than the typhoon’s approach — an ominous, foreboding anticipation. And then, it’s arrival. Trees ripped apart. Roof tiles torn into the sky. Boats pushed up on the shore. At the typhoon’s peak, the mind is still. A state of numb paralysis. The wind blusters. Objects are sent in all directions.
When a typhoon approaches, the sea falls silent. Rocks and trees around mountain streams begin to hold moisture in anticipation. Fierce waves crash against the shore. Water rises violently. The valleys are flooded like the base of a waterfall. Nevertheless, in merely a day or so, the sea is once again blessed with peace and sunlight. Lucid, crystal-clear water drizzle down the streams.
My work contemplates the typhoon. The lens explores nature’s influence through the mountain streams when the first signs appear, and again next to the sea at the event’s peak to feel its tremendous energy. The meditation continues until silence regains.
The typhoon’s rise and fall is an inspiration about nature’s cycles. In stillness and quietude, one experiences a sudden flash of enlightenment that the natural cycles are closer to the Mandala than the mundane world of humans.
Water flows down along the mountain and continues to sink into the sea, forming the quietest, deepest layer of the current underneath. On the water’s surface above, the typhoon churns the ferocious waves into a frenzy. Below, the deep sea is still. The lens of my camera is an explorer, contemplating and capturing the cycles, pushing into the netherworld to explore the immensity of its depths.
- Bae Bien-U