subtly > Nalani Knauss
Thinking of home, the terrain becomes a muddled puzzle.
Belonging isn't something you can seize; you may not demand it, or decree it. It arrives as a feeling.
Grasping the nostalgia of past experience blurs and dissipates in the melting haze of bygone days.
I find myself craving the familiarity and sensations of belonging. The taste of salt suds and surf intermingled with the crunch of sand beneath my toes.
What comes to mind are the idyllic landscapes of the rough Sonoma coastline, foaming waves, golden rolling hills, granular sands, and crumbling rock. Landscapes, like memories, are caught in the process of time, perpetually weathering away.
Daydreaming, soaked in reminiscence, I feel as if I am an unknown visitor lurking in the shadows. I try to fit myself into familiar contours.
Bare feet dig into sand.
The grit conceals the cloistered treasure of belonging.
The ground is something we tend to forget.
it forms the stability beneath our feet.
Can the ground itself be home?
My identity is still attached to the place that I call home, but I am constantly drifting away from the place that shaped me. Always arriving and a leaving; my constant comings and goings.
My Toes Miss the Crunch of Dirt.
I feel like I am constantly in flux. I move from one place to the next, back and forth from California to elsewhere. The goodbyes never get any easier. The images in my publication are from my archival material taken every time I return home to California. Returning home, I felt like a tourist trying to soak up every single moment. Going through archival material, I found that I had taken many photographs of bare feet touching the earth.