The Weight of Water

To live by the water is to accept a constant state of departure. The tide does not ask for permission; it simply arrives, takes what it needs, and retreats, leaving behind only the salt and the memory of movement. We spend our lives casting lines into the grey, hoping to pull something solid from the fluid. There is a particular exhaustion in this, a rhythm that settles into the bones like damp cold. We are tethered to the surface, yet we are always looking toward the depths, wondering what remains hidden beneath the agitation of the waves. It is a quiet labor, performed without witnesses, where the only measure of success is the ability to return the next morning. When the wind drops and the surface turns to glass, the silence is heavy. It is the sound of a life spent waiting for the net to grow heavy, or for the water to finally hold its breath.

Mostafa Monwar has captured this stillness in his work titled Aquatic Life. He shows us the thin line between the man and the tide. Does the water hold him, or is he merely holding on?