When it came down to the cutting-room floor for the final iteration of the "Landing Salt" exhibition, new synergies emerged as we edited out a few things and rearranged the keepers in new combinations. Above, Dan Adams's favorite of all our photographic images of the light fantastic from the front porch (left), the Greek bulk container Anangel Success out of Piraeus docking at Eastern Salt one snowy night, mutually energizes our own personal favorite, a bucket of salt releasing its precious cargo in the early morning light in our post "And when I looked, the salt had turned to gold."
"I think you are more or less writing my next post for me," we wrote our sis this afternoon as she imailed — with reference to our part of the "Landing Salt" group exhibition" that will open on Tuesday evening from 5 to 7 at the Pearl Street Gallery in Chelsea — "You, truly, are doing your civic duty":
She: I'm just so excited about what you're doing for Eastern Salt and its image within the community. All these spoiled hybrid-car drivers … where do they think salt comes from, when it's nicely strewn on icy roads? You have said, "YES!!! IN MY FRONT YARD!"
We: And the work speaks for itself.
She: Your pictures fairly thrum with the life of the tankers unloading. Static on a radio drives you mad, but the noise of unloading precious salt is music to your ears.
Different drummers were always our thing. Sub rosa blogfriend Greg of Sippican Cottage caught the conscience of the king the other day with a snippet of one of his brilliant who-knew discoveries, C.H. Spurgeon's Farm Sermons:
He who despises truth because it wears in this case no other adornment than a garland of the flowers of the field about its neck, or a wreath of barley around its brows, has no eye wherewith to discern beauty, which is as fascinating in rural dress as in classic attire. So long as the soul is fed it is small matter whether the subjects were suggested by the palace or the barn.
"Beauty in unexpected places," the tagline of sisu, is the title of our body of work in the "Landing Salt" exhibition. Writing about our series of daybreak portraits of the view from Goomp's front porch Down East awhile back, we blogged "Had Monet lived here in Southern Coastal Maine, he might have been known for his sunrises instead of his haystacks." The same could be said of the views from our own front porch down Chelsea, where Monet might have been known for his painterly studies of the ever-changing play of light on the working waterfront across the street.