A long exposure leaves the shutter open and lets light gather over time. It records what a quick glance misses, and the things that hold still come out sharp.
Most of what I write here began that way: an experience that sat with me for years until something small, a spider on a wall, a white cane in a doorway, a field of fireflies, opened the shutter long enough for it to show up.
I live in the mountains of western North Carolina. I spent nearly two decades as a nurse, and I’m still learning what that taught me about paying attention. Outside of that, I photograph with a large-format camera, play the piano, and make ambient music, all of which turn out to be the same kind of work: waiting for light, or for a note to finish what it has to say.
I write essays and poems about the animals and places I stop for, and about whatever they bring up in me. I hope something here stays with you the way it stayed with me.
Thank you for reading.
Christian Marquess
