Few things move me like the green light of an approaching thunderstorm. It invariably sneaks up on me, arriving like an underlying condition of which I am made suddenly aware. When I finally recognize it, a voice in my blood says Get on your bicycle and pedal home! (Or, as my father once said on a golf course—an angry purple cloud approaching—“Drop your bag, Ben. We’re going to have to run.”) The response is immediate, both physical and emotional, as the growing charge sets off a sympathetic synaptic storm. Little wonder, then, that these storms and their attendant light keep showing up in my work.
What atmospheric conditions move you? Maybe it’s domestic weather…the seal breaking on a refrigerator door? Or that gilded silence in the hallway after someone leaves for work?