A curated digital gallery of
black and white
and written words
from Erin Thomas
Through mineshaft, and floor
Bikes, likes and energy
Not for nor against
in this moment
hurt and foregather
The pomp and scene
kept me well
and safely disguised
With only one
sneaking suspicion about
and heel with fallacy
to those self observed
they care not
for my tide
Contemplation is failing me, this moment in misgiving
Along the river of bloodshed, my veins palpate throbbing crick
Severe my heart and forgave the criminality
The quiet. The still frozen morning to wake with hefty snowfall.
Sleep, sleep in it...freeze, quietly.... until death.
They don't need me today.
No one needs me today.
The strong and heavy quiet makes my ears ring.
The sounds of metal scraping the roadway with an engine spitting exhaust.
It shakes the house...you can feel it...
if you lay as still as I.
SAW MILL HILL - May 2015
We heard an explosion, on that windy warm day, while we were pulling into the driveway after a visit to the farm store. My husband jumped out of his truck...he made eye contact with me while pulling on his turn out gear. He didn't need to tell me that he knew something had just happened in town.
The tone dropped less than two minutes later.
It was my first time responding (formally) with a camera to a fire scene.
My hands shook violently.
I did not go very close to the scene for fear I would interrupt the emergency crews.
The wind carried the plume of toxic black smoke out over the cemetery and then back into the gathering crowd and quickly cleared most of the onlookers away.
The women next to me…
"I have never seen a fire this big close up, have you?"
"No, it's…Oh my God, I hope no one is in there!"
The roaring sound of the wind and the growing flames is hard to describe.
After 3 or 4 shots I noticed a man sitting in the cemetery staring blankly at the house.
"Is this your home?"
"Are you okay?"
I gently put the camera down for quite a few minutes to comfort him and take him to a police officer.
When I picked the camera back up and I started to shoot again as the smoke and flames cleared, I realized I was shooting images of my tired husband, and my hands started to shake again.
"You are certainly a Mainer." A woman taps my shoulder gently and points to my feet.
I suddenly realize the strangeness of the situation... I am shooting photos of my husband in a large fire while still clutching a box of four loud baby chicks between my ankles.
I went back the next day to shoot the quiet entrance to the home that now leads to emptiness.
MINI GALLERY OF BLACK AND WHITE FIREFIGHTER AND FIRST RESPONSE PHOTOS
click to view larger
In going thus far, too near, too severe
Will not let you in, inside, for fear
Invisible want, it's clear, this frontier.
Out knowing this star, you appear, so near.
Want not to sin, in pride, so adhere
Visceral haunt, it's a cheer, this sphere.
Stride and splashy palace, nuance, and such
This one little thing, nagging, biting wonderment at what predator
Lies beneath in home.
Erin Thomas is an artist, designer, writer and photographer from Southern Maine.