Closer than Heaven | Between half-forgotten memories and partly-imagined dreams, the coastal plains of Georgia are baked under the unrelenting sun. Commonly referred to as the lowcountry, moments here feel both weightless and static. They hang heavy in the air, as thick as the humidity that plagues the area. Attempting to capture them is like trying to capture the sunlight itself. They are fragmented, simultaneously revealing and obscuring the truth.
These moments, as fragile as dew, uncover a soft kind of ache for something else; for a better, forgotten time. Like a daydream, the colors are faded, a moment only beautiful in theory and sad in execution. They unveil the futile struggle of life and the deep ennui that perpetuate small towns on lonely highways. They are aware of their own impermanence. When held up to the light, these moments long wistfully for something that is more dream than reality. Once gone, it’s hard to remember why exactly they make your heart ache. These moments are far from perfect, but they’re closer than heaven. www.penelopestone.co