The air smells like lavender and leather, lathered in sea salt. A 1980s Cadillac is spread in butter yellow paint. Soft and solid mingle, creating a foaming feeling in which Dodge and Parker play. Childhood is vaporous - it permeates and fills. Adulthood feels more solid - firm and unyielding. But today, the boys melt. They move with, rather than against. Between phases, their bodies flow like water with the rope’s rippling. They let the penny board carry them into the wind’s airstream. The sun’s warm hand shuts their eyes gently. Parker’s whole body points in the direction of the plane above, as if he’s the kite being pulled by the plane’s string. Dodge surrenders to the sea’s sway.
The boys’ features soften in Jena Cumbo’s tender lens. They move with one another as if they’re playing a game of tag. They meet her, she meets them. She follows in Parker’s pink cowboy boot footsteps as he runs through the course. She captures them from inside the rope wall as if they’re crawling up the web of her lens. Jena chases them down the jetty’s rocks; The lens liquifies. Parker walks with the wild skip of a child, while Dodge’s stride is measured and deliberate. Do you remember how to skip? Do you know how good it feels when your muscles remember what your brain thought was long forgotten? Why don’t we skip?
There’s a weightlessness to being a child. So the two climb and swing and race, without fear. Dodge smiles so wide his tongue slips out. Styled by Alicia Santana, the two almost look like they’re playing dress up. Their clothes, like technicoloured liquid, take on their changing shapes. Against checkerboard tables and rope ladders, they wear citrus coloured tie dye, stripes, stars, polka dots, and triangle patchwork. They look how youth feels, and long for lavender and leather to linger.