OCEAN IN A MICROSCOPE
The waves return and return, and I return to them again and again, for realignment of my own breath with their rhythm, for the shimmering light on water and the inclusivity of fog, for reunion of soul and mystery, for the continuity of endless variations. For assurance that the horizon still indicates the roundness of our planet.
I’ve been collecting ocean water each time I go to there, from high tide, low tide, full moon, dolphin days. From a dropper I make samples on glass slides, carefully placing, or aiming a splash of large and small drops. I have a vintage Zeiss from the late 1970s with knobs and levers; a standard light, optical microscope with a digital camera that allows me to explore these realms via an interface with my computer and monitor.
Here are squares, triangles, circles intermingled within one particle, cuhes, and pyramids that could be massive and ancient at another scale. Designs appear etched into surfaces suddenly appear like an encoding revealed by the slightest
adjustment in focus. Another turn of the knob reveals a new realm of detail that was completely imperceptible a moment before. Solid presence can blur into nothing - what appears to have heft and edge despite its actual scale, seems to melt away; the seen and unseen are interchangable. Looking from this perspective feels apt in a time when edges can become immaterial, when certainty is maybe just one possibility.
©Rose-Lynn Fisher 2020
Santa Monica, California