Emma Hamilton
Winter Morning III, 2021
C type print mounted on aluminium
25 x 38cm
This work was taken during daily walks along the shore while on residency in Iceland, and takes inspiration from a passage from ‘Independent People’, a celebrated novel by the Icelandic author Halldór Laxness:
‘Slowly, slowly winter day opens his arctic eye.
From the moment when he gives his first drowsy blink to the time when his when his leaden lids have finally opened wide, there passes not merely hour after hour; no, age follows age through the immeasurable expanses of the morning, world follows world, as in the visions of a blind man, reality follows reality, and is no more—the light grows brighter. So distant is winter day on his own morning. Even his morning is distant from itself. The first faint gleam on the horizon and the full brightness on the window at breakfast-time are like two different beginnings, two starting points. And since at dawn even his morning is distant, what must his evening be? Forenoon, noon, and afternoon are as far off as the countries we hope to see when we grow up; evening as remote and unreal as death…’
Hamilton has captured these moments via a digital camera, shot through the viewfinder of an analogue camera. She makes visible the space of the viewfinder, using it as a lens through which to view a winter morning. Here the blink of Laxness’ arctic eye becomes the opening and closing of the camera shutter. The light of the morning changes incrementally through the landscape captured throughout the ‘ages’ of a series of extended mornings.
Courtesy of the artist.
Winter Morning III, 2021
C type print mounted on aluminium
25 x 38cm
This work was taken during daily walks along the shore while on residency in Iceland, and takes inspiration from a passage from ‘Independent People’, a celebrated novel by the Icelandic author Halldór Laxness:
‘Slowly, slowly winter day opens his arctic eye.
From the moment when he gives his first drowsy blink to the time when his when his leaden lids have finally opened wide, there passes not merely hour after hour; no, age follows age through the immeasurable expanses of the morning, world follows world, as in the visions of a blind man, reality follows reality, and is no more—the light grows brighter. So distant is winter day on his own morning. Even his morning is distant from itself. The first faint gleam on the horizon and the full brightness on the window at breakfast-time are like two different beginnings, two starting points. And since at dawn even his morning is distant, what must his evening be? Forenoon, noon, and afternoon are as far off as the countries we hope to see when we grow up; evening as remote and unreal as death…’
Hamilton has captured these moments via a digital camera, shot through the viewfinder of an analogue camera. She makes visible the space of the viewfinder, using it as a lens through which to view a winter morning. Here the blink of Laxness’ arctic eye becomes the opening and closing of the camera shutter. The light of the morning changes incrementally through the landscape captured throughout the ‘ages’ of a series of extended mornings.
Courtesy of the artist.
