The Horseman of the Apocalypse
Photo Practicum Fall 2024
Conquest, War, Famine, Death. These are the four horsemen of the apocalypse. White, Red, Black, Pale. These are their colors.
Symbols of the apocalypse, the horsemen are set forth as reminders of consequences, that choices must prompt reflection. Each horse cues the next, like dominoes in a row, a chain reaction towards death. Conquest lures one into a sense of false peace, in which war takes over and demolishes all. Famine, the inescapable repercussion of carnage and violence, leads one right to death, the ultimate equalizer.
Growing up in church, one line stuck out to me, as a lingering reminder of the mortality of those around me. Words to live by, words to recall in times of struggle, words that comfort those fearing the next stage. My dad never feared death, he knew where he was going and what he would become. From dust you came, and to dust you shall return.
This project completes my minor in photography at Emerson College. Practicum is a semester-long capstone course in which students focus and produce one full body of work in 14 weeks. Thank you to the best brother, Jason, my amazing professor, Lauren Shaw, supportive friends, classmates, and loved cameraman for helping me along the way.
Conquest, plague, pestilence, the act of taking control or gaining one’s compliance. Bad mental states and plaguing anxiety seep into my body and overtake me from the inside out. Nausea, vomiting, fainting, migraines, seemingly from nowhere or nothing, overpowering me. It comes in waves, pushing and pulling me back and forth. It’s just a really bad case of “butterflies”. I cannot, will not, let the thoughts take over or win. I am not in control of anything. I am in control of my own body and thoughts.
War, aggression, domination. I snap and crackle like a fire, quick to the jump, ready to be defensive. It’s not one of my favorite qualities about myself, it's not attractive or becoming my mother has told me. Like a volcano erupting, uncontrolled and often minimally provoked, uproaring horror followed by sudden shame, a push and play of conflict and consequences. The red rider, stripping peace from the land and dividing those into civil strife. There is bad fire and there is good fire, destruction but also reincarnation. It’s volatile, energetic, and passionate, but that energy has to go somewhere. Everything that fire touches is changed.
Famine, starvation, inevitable consequence of oppression, vulnerability. What happens when you are starved of essentials? The most stable, fundamental part of our being. Earth, solid ground, the real mother, the soil we carry in our bodies. How can you put down roots when the soil is coarse? How do you overcome that desire for greater nourishment?
Death. Everywhere, but nowhere. Formless and fleeting, from dust you came and to dust you shall return. Grief is similar, some days it's breezy, and other days it gusts through you, paralyzing you to the bone. Breathe is far deeper than just movement in and out of our lungs. Each inhale and exhale reinforces the energy behind each intention in our lives. It is something we take for granted until it is no longer second nature. How easy it is to forget something that hums in the background of life?