The Island


I feel like I just came out of a comma, as realizations of what we saw are all of a sudden so clear. I don’t tell the story of the island often, as most dismiss what we witnessed as folklore about a place that doesn’t even exist. I was there for what seemed like weeks creating a vast collection of imagery in hopes of publishing an art book only to lose myself in the sun, wind, and waves. The photographs I had taken while adventure sailing through a chain of abstract rocks and beaches showed just how beautiful the days could be. However, images never depict the paramount of storms that could have guided us to this living rock. Sometimes the universe pushes the pencil for you whether you like it or not. As the anchor hit the sand floor, and we paddled to shore, we found all that we expected by day. Palms gracing the crescent cove, trails to the top of a bluff, and a view so spectacular that even a poet couldn’t do it justice. However, when night fell and the ground moved from under our feet, I just knew our days were numbered, and some of ours were. I’m here to tell the story of the island, but words can’t illustrate like a work of art can. Either way I’m sure this story leaves you confused, but welcome to my journey through a skewed lens that reflects a place that may or may not exist even in our minds.
— Charles Maring