I had a conversation with a friend recently about the properties of light in different geographic locations. They talked of Venice, I talked of the South. It led me to dreaming about the light out on the west coast, before I set foot on the damp earth there. Here, in Pennsylvania the daylight has a density to it that I can’t describe. It is a thick daylight, heavy and long limbed.
Seattle’s light was crisp and bright, defining the edges of the landscape with clarity. I was a little dumb founded when I stepped out the plane and was surrounded by the grey, sharp light of the 6 o’clock hour on the west coast. It felt like someone had focused my eyes.