You arrive in a familiar forest, but everything feels unfamiliar.
Unfamiliar trees, unfamiliar rocks, an unfamiliar river. Even the water flowed strangely — as if in the wrong direction. The banks were like nothing I’d seen before: felled trunks, charred stumps, stones arranged in a circle around a long-cold firepit. Who had been here? Why? How many years had passed since then? Or centuries?
The forest existed on its own — indifferent, black and white. I was indifferent too.
I ended up with these images, taken in that gloomy forest on one of the gloomiest days of my life. It felt as though I’d been in David Lynch’s world.
@alexanderfluke's pictures
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