While writing my rather dismissive review of Martin Parr’s Beach Therapy, I had the idea to see what sorts of beach-type photographs I had in my archive. Turns out, not too many, really. I don’t live near a (real) beach, and other than the 3 years I spent in Holbrook, NY, I’ve never lived anywhere near the ocean. While I don’t mind the beach, I far prefer the mountains, the foothills, the prairie, the forest. I’m a country boy, more or less.
My darling, adorable wife, on the other hand, spent 20 years in Exeter, UK, within minutes of the ocean. Before that, she was in New Jersey, and before that, in Bangladesh. She doesn’t mind mountains, foothills, prairie, forest, but far prefers the beach. Sadly, we live about 5 hours from the nearest beach, and closer to 6 from a beach you’d actually want to walk on, where the water doesn’t smell of chemicals and there aren’t balls of tar and dead fish washed up on the beach. So we’ve had to make do over the years.
Continue reading “Farhana on the Beach”
