397 words
It was late April, 2021. Having just received my first dose of the COVID-19 vaccine, I had a little time kill until my next obligation. Parking my car, I made my way through one of the city’s many wonderful parks along the Don River, and then it hit me, a wave of exhaustion that would echo what many would feel in the following years. Then, the ground was still dusted with snow, and the welcoming rock by the riverbed welcomed me with its shattering cold embrace. It had been, what, forty minutes since I left the clinic? Fleeting into the safety of contacts abroad in group chats, we compared how we all felt based on which vaccine we had taken.
One reported repeated skin blotches on his skin; another said that they were bedridden for a week. Another wrote that “they felt nothing, but I was a little dehydrated for a day or two.”
These were the days upon which we embraced our curiosity on this topic. These were the days long before most shut their minds off at any mention of the pandemic. We all compared notes furiously. We shared information from all whom we were fortunate enough to have direct contact with, especially if they were outside of our immediate age group.
This was long before parents learned of the inflammatory issues observed in children. This was long before a lot of those in the chat rooms came to call Long-Covid an uninvited companion into their lives.
It was then, in the blink of an eye, late November, 2023. I had revisited the same park, once again finding myself time between meetings, and I came to a full stop.
There was the rock which I had found myself on all those months ago, short of breath and confused. Standing above where I had rested once before, I felt a renewed wave of exhaustion accompanied by an odd form of repulsion, which was comforting.
I raised my camera and photographed the rock, slightly positioning the rock to the left of the frame. Unseen within the rangefinder’s framelines were my body slumped over as I reached out across the globe to friends and colleagues, only occasionally looking up to take in the scenery.
Here, I was and am still moored to that moment in the past. A shared past whose door has remained ajar globally ever since.
A note about the photograph: This photograph was made with the initial stock release of the experimental and new filmstock by Harman, Phoenix 200. Opening findings of the film revealed that its native ISO was about 120, it exhibited a heavier-than-expected amount of grain, and the highlights would bloom if one were exposed for the shadows in the composition.
Knowing its, I exposed for the shadows in the distant tree line, knowing that the heavy vignette of the vintage lens would dampen the exposure to those regions. This resulted in the desired effect of the top of the rock exhibiting the bloom, which was intentional. Standing over the rock, I still felt the ghostly presence of that day, vividly casting its impression on the landscape.
The roll of film was developed at the box speed of ISO 200, but shot at 160. This frame was made with the Leica 50 Summilux Version Two, whose optics were initially introduced in 1960, and remained intact, save for some minor changes to coatings until 2004.
Time of writing: February 29th, 2024