Marshall Point will always be my “Forrest Gump lighthouse.”
It’s one of the first lighthouses I ever knew the name of, long before I knew anything about photography or coastlines or what sunrise alignment even meant. As a kid watching Forrest run across the country, that scene where he reaches the lighthouse stuck with me. So every time I visit, there’s this little spark my childhood wonder that comes along for the ride.
On this evening the walkway was damp, but not quite reflective enough for what I had in mind. The waves had splashed a little, and the boards were darkened from earlier rain, but I wantedmore. A real reflection, something that would stretch the lighthouse into the sky and make the colors pool on the ground.
So I improvised.
I grabbed my empty water bottle, scooped up some seawater, and gently spilled it onto the boards until it formed the perfect puddle. Then I laid my camera right down at deck level, cheek practically against the wood, hoping the angle would catch everything just right. Not enough, so I did it again. And again. After three times and sacrificing a wet food in the process, I'd decided the puddle had to be good enough resulting in the final photo you now see.
As the sun dropped, the world shifted into these incredible purples, blues, and soft pinks. The lighthouse glowed in the last light, doubled in the reflection like a watercolor version of itself. I used to paint watercolors as a little kid and this reminded me of liquid colors almost when you added too much water to an area and the colors blended too much. Then they organized themselves back into form of the lighthouse.
Size:
Frame:
Marshall Point will always be my “Forrest Gump lighthouse.”
It’s one of the first lighthouses I ever knew the name of, long before I knew anything about photography or coastlines or what sunrise alignment even meant. As a kid watching Forrest run across the country, that scene where he reaches the lighthouse stuck with me. So every time I visit, there’s this little spark my childhood wonder that comes along for the ride.
On this evening the walkway was damp, but not quite reflective enough for what I had in mind. The waves had splashed a little, and the boards were darkened from earlier rain, but I wantedmore. A real reflection, something that would stretch the lighthouse into the sky and make the colors pool on the ground.
So I improvised.
I grabbed my empty water bottle, scooped up some seawater, and gently spilled it onto the boards until it formed the perfect puddle. Then I laid my camera right down at deck level, cheek practically against the wood, hoping the angle would catch everything just right. Not enough, so I did it again. And again. After three times and sacrificing a wet food in the process, I'd decided the puddle had to be good enough resulting in the final photo you now see.
As the sun dropped, the world shifted into these incredible purples, blues, and soft pinks. The lighthouse glowed in the last light, doubled in the reflection like a watercolor version of itself. I used to paint watercolors as a little kid and this reminded me of liquid colors almost when you added too much water to an area and the colors blended too much. Then they organized themselves back into form of the lighthouse.
Image 1 of 5
Image 2 of 5
Image 3 of 5
Image 4 of 5
Image 5 of 5