When the World Changes Color

Color attracts me. Sometimes by contrast, sometimes because it is unusual, and other times because it transforms the everyday and turns it into something extraordinary.

This week I was walking along the vast beaches of California, where the fog often seems to steal the colors away and the landscape turns cold and gray. But one day, when I least expected it, the clouds parted to reveal a golden and luminous sunset.

Strange-shaped seaweed appeared on the sand, illuminated by the last rays of the sun. Their amber, green, and coppery tones looked like brushstrokes. They were small worlds that would have probably gone unnoticed under any other light.

The Other Archive: Where Memories Are Never Erased

My photographic archive holds millions of images. When I review it, I can travel through time, return to a place, and transport myself back to the exact moment I took a photograph.

But for every image, I keep two different files.

One is physical: the digital record that comes out of the camera and that I save on my hard drives and backups. The other is in my brain, and it contains far more information. It doesn’t just store an image, but also visual and emotional memories. It can bring back smells, temperatures, sounds, the people who were with me, and even what I was feeling at that very instant.

I can locate many of my photographs from memory. I remember the day, the place, and the moment I took them. I also know when the color appearing on the screen does not match what I saw.

The Color of Memory: Returning to the Living Hills

While driving through the low hills of California, I had to find a place to pull over. The landscape I remembered from five years ago was green and bright. Now, in the middle of August, that green had vanished. The hills were yellow and, in some places, black.

I didn’t want to rely solely on nostalgia. Before taking out the camera, I opened my computer inside my car, connected the hard drive, and searched for the photographs I had taken there during a month of February, after the rains.

In front of me, the green hills I kept in my memory appeared once again. They looked like images from another planet. Only after confirming that my memory was accurate did I step outside with the camera to record the landscape unfolding before my eyes.

The Colors of Fire: Paintings of Smoke and Ash

When I tried to approach Mount Hood in Oregon, Google Maps warned me about a wildfire and I had to turn back. From the city, I managed to see the mountain illuminated by the last rays of the sun, suspended between the smoke and a pink sky.

I took the photograph, and a few seconds later, the smoke completely covered the mountain.

Sometimes beauty is also a warning. I then recalled the impact of seeing how the flames and smoke had also painted the sky with surreal colors. The twilight and darkness coexisted with bright and luminous tones. The yellow, orange, and red could seem beautiful, even if what produced them was devastating.

The Eclipse Changed the Light I Knew

A couple of days ago, I eagerly awaited the rising of the full moon. Its amber light glowed in the forest, leaving behind the branches that vibrated in the backlight. A red and coppery shadow began to cover it, leaving a small, bright sliver that grew smaller and smaller.

As it regained its brightness, I saw the shadow of a huge owl perch on the thick branch of an oak tree. Its hooting echoed through the forest, the crow called, and, in the distance, the coyotes answered.

Our map from last week route