When my partner and I moved back to suburbia from the city, I was not keen on returning to a landscape that I had previously decided was riddled with mundanity. Dilapidated strip malls, houses, signage, land, etcetera; I grew up photographing these things, trying to extract from them any minuscule glimmer of interest available. Now, approximately fifteen years later, I’ve rejected that environment and taken to wandering the woods instead.
My woodland walks were, at first, primarily walks for my dog, a puppy named Bug. For the first few months, I didn’t take my camera with me on these walks. I didn’t expect to find anything of interest. But then, I came upon a reservoir, oddly tucked away behind about half a mile of forest in a rather urban area of our town. And as if that wasn’t interesting enough, I soon discovered in that reservoir a glistening, golden fish. Standing at the water’s edge, I was greeted by a single golden koi fish. Bug didn’t seem to notice the fish as it approached - which was odd for Bug, who has ears two times larger than they should be and the sharp eyes of a sighthound - so for a few moments, I wondered if this fish was real, or just some strange play of light on the water. I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures to see if it would show up on the camera’s sensor. It did. I felt, then, the fluttering return of inspiration.
Daily I returned to the secret reservoir to photograph the fish, seeking to capture the magic moment when he first appeared to me. This went on for months, the koi and I established a rapport, I spoke to it as it floated near me. I learned from a friend who grew up in the area that its name was Moi, and that no one knows how or when it had first appeared in the resevoir.
Then, one day, I heard rumors of Moi’s death, read posts about it on an online community forum. I rushed out to find him and disprove the rumors. I didn’t find Moi’s body, or any sign of its death - Moi was simply gone. I returned day after day hoping to spot its glimmering golden scales rippling the water’s surface, to no avail. Grief, cold and dull, began to set in. Still, Bug and I returned daily and began exploring other areas, believing that this space had more magic to reveal. In Moi’s absence I started noticing other details about the reservoir: faces coded in tree bark, the sound of distant vehicles wailing like strange creatures in the woods, the inexplicable rising of the water level after a rainless week, as if something massive had submerged into the reservoir. It became apparent to me that this was a reservoir of magic, a font of inspiration, and a natural reliquary to which I have given a part of me. I drank its water, walked its land, and bore witness to its life.
These photographs distinctly capture the profound joy and grief I felt before and after Moi’s death, and in a way have helped me cope with its loss. I’ve learned that magic and inspiration can exist even in the most mundane places, waiting to be discovered by those who seek it.