The Eye of the Storm

I remember a Tuesday in London when the sirens were so loud they seemed to vibrate in my teeth. Everyone on the platform was leaning over the yellow line, necks craned, phones held high, desperate to catch a glimpse of the drama unfolding on the tracks. Everyone, that is, except for an elderly woman sitting on a bench near the exit. She was peeling an orange, the zest scent cutting through the stale underground air. She didn’t look up once. She wasn’t indifferent, exactly; she was simply anchored to her own reality, a quiet island in a sea of frantic curiosity. We are so often taught that to be present is to witness, to record, to be part of the noise. But there is a rare, heavy dignity in choosing to stay still when the world demands your attention. It is the quietest form of rebellion. When was the last time you let the world rush past you without needing to know why?

Keith Goldstein has captured this exact kind of stillness in his work titled Love. It is a powerful reminder that even in the middle of a storm, we have the choice to remain unmoved. Does this image make you want to join the crowd, or sit beside the man on the corner?