As the bone-chill sets in and ears burn from glacial winds, the horizon cuts sheets of water from a consuming blanket of clouds. Hazy mist enshrouds the glass lake, seeping into the air with a metallic taste of effervescence. Like a sentence forgotten halfway through speech, his words slip from his lips and drop to the hardened ground. Winter’s language is trembling hands and glowing cheeks with a pinch of ferocity woven into subdued silence.
Observed in eloquent stillness, he watches his reflection in the water just long enough to confirm his existence during fleeting moments of intensity until calm returns. It is well known that residents of the sea do not hear the sounds of the waves and so goes the story of habitats and inhabitants; routine defines the living. With the volume turned down low, the distinction between who we are and what we were ripples across the surface as dusk demands its time.
Jade Danielle Smith follows George along the creaking wooden jetty to capture the model against the motionless lake. Retreating to shore, Nathan Henry replaces George’s printed ensemble with earthy layers before introducing outfits of salmon and brown, shades of red, and a baby pink suit.
Far behind the team lies a city of February faces; frost, storm, and cloudiness line brows, lips, and jaws. To remain tender, you must not let the weight of your life lean on your bones. The winds flicker, bringing the thin fog closer with dampness that alights on clothes and dust cheekbones. Leaving behind the mosaic of English life stapled together in postcard perfection, our team retire from the lake one after another before the drizzle takes hold.