Dungeness;       —UK

It is ultimately a matter of temperament whether one is depressed by reminders of mortality. The sculptors of our dispositions have varied moods — seeing a hare’s carcass on a childhood hike versus surviving the death of a parent when young, surely have differing effects. And neither example ensure a particular outcome of personality — there are ever so many factors.
            Quite simply though, some of us are drawn to environs where the contemplation of transcendental change is an involuntary aspect — ruins, deserts, the open ocean… Places that others might find a bit sad. I am not of the latter type, to say that I don’t find ruins or forlorn places “sad” would not be wholly accurate. Rather I consider myself a peer of those like Wordsworth or Kawabata; those who could never say "beauty" without also feeling loss.

       ca. 2022

Nearly a decade ago, fairly randomly, I ended up on the English beach of Dungeness in Kent. Dungeness is surely a paradigm of this lonely but fertile type of place. Ever since my visit I have been haunted by it’s memory. It is a magic site where erosion is procreative and ego impossible. Collected on this site are mementos I picked up while crunching along that deserted shore — a mix of photos and detritus of “melancholic grace”.