This was the first sunrise that I witnessed during my time at The Island School, and with the light radiating from the clouds and the bright reflection lighting up the water, this is still the most amazing sunrise I’ve ever seen. Despite trying to recapture a sunrise on Eleuthera, Bahamas with this same vibrance, I never could. 

Exhausted from a day full of traveling the day before, the mandatory 6:00 am wakeup time meant that the sky was just starting to light up while we were getting ready for our first day so I decided to try to document the sunrise. While a few of my friends were down by the water, I stood on the deck of the dorm taking pictures, trying to capture different perspectives and different parts of this new environment. I not only wanted to capture the light and the way that it erupted around the clouds, but I wanted the distinct silhouette of the vegetation in the foreground that sat right on the edge of the water. I see these two different aspects of the environment included in one photo to represent the interdependence between the ocean and the coastline. While we may often see the ocean as a world completely separate from our own, the different organisms on the shore thrive because of the ocean.

On the left side of the image, you can see the hand of one of my friends holding up a peace sign. When I initially took the photo and realized that there was someone in it, I felt like I needed to take another to capture the raw environment. As I now reflect on this picture and my time at The Island School, I see this aspect of the image as a representation of the close relationships that we formed and the unique environment that fostered them. When I think about a single image to represent my transformative experience at The Island School, this one comes to mind.  This picture represents the beginning of a one-hundred-day experience that would change my life.

This image represents the exploration and discovery that was so unique to my experience at The Island School. It captures the transcendent beauty of the ocean and the way that we can exist within it, while inspiring action to protect these environments. While the figure swims up towards the surface, the fragments of light break through to reveal the coral heads. This creates a sense of wonder as it seems that the person is swimming into a portal of light. While we were exploring the environment and appreciating the sea life, this picture was able to capture the reef system while using the light to represent the freedom and joy that we felt. Rachel Carson once wrote, “In nature nothing exists alone,” and I feel that this photo and Carson’s words go hand in hand. The photo captures the way that the light helps the coral and algae to grow, and how this interdependent relationship leads to humans being able to immerse themselves in this unique environment. I took this photo on a GoPro, which has lower resolution than many cameras, and I think that this softer focus worked to my benefit. It allows the viewer to focus more on the outline of the coral heads and the way that the light is shining on them, rather than specific individual details that would be more noticeable. This softer focus also replicates how it can feel to be underwater. It's a different world that feels completely separate from our own.

The GoPro is also able to capture a wider perspective, and this helped me to capture both the dark and light parts of the photo, allowing the sun shining through the surface to be the central aspect of this image.

One of our main focuses at The Island School was conservation. Much of the curriculum was focused on the environment of Eleuthera, and the different organisms that we weren’t familiar with back home in the States. One of the animals that we learned a lot about was the lionfish. Lionfish originally arrived in the Bahamas after being brought to the Bahamas for aquariums. After either escaping or being released, lionfish became an invasive species throughout Florida and the Caribbean. These fish are now very common in the reefs and compete with native species for resources. This means that native fish species are left with fewer food sources and more competition, which has led to a decline in native fish populations, and because Lionfish reproduce at a high rate, the reef is losing its biodiversity. 

Behind the lionfish, are two of my peers from The Island School. The one posing on the left is holding up two middle fingers, showing his detest for the lionfish. For Island School students, the lionfish represents a threat to the reef and the different organisms that exist within it. The lionfish also symbolizes a situation where humans acted in a manner that resulted in the surrounding ecosystem being negatively affected. At The Island School, the reefs are our classrooms. This is where much of our learning takes place, whether it is while we are in class, or while we are independently exploring, noticing different nuances of life, color, and structure, as well as interaction. Not only is this the primary environment where we bear witness to different types of marine life, but it is where we observe and study changes that occur over time, and as a result of human impact. The reefs are experiential and dynamic, constantly changing while being extremely sensitive and interdependent to the other forms of life around them. This interdependence and fluidity is intrinsic to the spirit of The Island School.

I took this photo on a GoPro while swimming during free time at The Island School. I was aiming to capture the vibrant yellow of the individual coral head and the way that it alone supports many different types of sea life. There are different species of fish droning around this stretch of reef, moving among the different coral heads. In this photograph, I wanted to convey how the surface reflects the portion of the bottom that lies beneath, and the vague dark blue line that stretches out into the unknown. This horizon is distant and uncertain but also has a promise of possibility. It shows the dependence that different creatures have on specific parts of the ocean, and how these individual features can often be overlooked. When we see the wider reef, we see its immensity and expanse. But we don’t always notice its individual components, and it’s essential to remember every unique living aspect of the reef is important in maintaining a healthy ecosystem.

This photo was taken towards the beginning of my semester at The Island School when we were searching for lobsters under shelters that were set along the ocean floor a few months before. Throughout this entire day, we were going from site to site, hoping that living underneath the metal panels, we would find a Spiny Lobster. As I was ascending with an empty net after a dive down to the shelter, one of my friends took this photo. With the light shining through the surface a few meters above, the ocean floor has a fractured brightness cast onto it. One thing that I find interesting about this image is that the ocean and the grassy bottom merge, making it difficult to tell where the floor separates from the water beneath the surface. I also am caught by the way that it looks like I am suspended, flowing towards the surface, reaching the air bubbles that are captured at the top of the frame. There are many different hues, all dependent on the angle of the camera and the distance between the camera and the ocean floor.​​ Furthest from the lens, the bottom has a shade of deeper blue with more shadows casting a mysterious glow, while right underneath me, the grass and sand is brightly lit. This process of subtle revelation reflects one of the most important things that I learned about myself during my time at The Island School. I always knew that living an active lifestyle centered around the ocean was important to me, but during my time at The Island School, this became increasingly clear. Throughout the semester as I continued to swim every morning, I noticed how much better I felt throughout the day. I felt a short period of fatigue from the hour-long swims where I was both physically and mentally depleted, but it quickly wore off after I ate breakfast. I was then really able to feel the ways that the ocean could give me energy, sharpen my mind, and strengthen my body. This experience of making swimming in the ocean part of my daily routine gave me clarity for how I want to structure my life, and it has solidified the idea that I always want to be in a location that allows me to be immersed within the ocean.

My friend took this photo of me in mid-December, almost a year since I’d been at The Island School, while we were skating down the two-mile stretch of road that runs parallel to the beach. In this photograph, you can see the vastness of the sand dunes and dune grass, which merges into the dense forest of pine trees. If you consider the rhythmic pattern of the dune grass and the sand woven between it, you start to feel a sense of the interconnectedness of these different layered elements of the natural world. Because this photo was taken mid-December, the colors are dark and everything almost looks dead. The dune grass is a faded brown, the bushes have no leaves or blossoms, and the trees in the background are dark green, lacking the vibrance that they gain during the warmer months. Despite this feeling of drought and darkness, these vast sand dunes are always slightly shifting, blown by the wind and pushed back by the ebb and flow of the tides. The dune grass, trees, and bushes, even in the winter when static, are providing a strong foundation for the dunes to rest on, maintaining a general protective shape that supports the different organisms that rely on this ecosystem for resources. In the bottom left of the photograph, I am skateboarding away from the camera on a road that falls beneath the line of the sand dune. This gives the sense that I am suspended and skating on dunes that aren’t completely stable. I appear small against a moving natural world that from the vantage point of the camera is revealed to be so much larger than what I experience when I am immersed in it.

Last March, my mom and I went on a trip to visit friends in Puerto Rico. I spent five days surfing for seven hours each day, only stopping to eat and drink. During these long hours that I spent in the water, my mom would sit on the beach taking photos and watching the lineup. Each morning around 8:30 when my mom and I had finished breakfast, we would drive to one of two breaks, Jobos or Wilderness, staying there until dusk when my mom waved me out of the surf. This picture was taken on the last day that I surfed at Wilderness, a long right-handed break that had been overhead for the two days before. I was exhausted and worn from all the surfing that I had been doing for the past week. I had a rash on my stomach from the surfboard wax and my lats had friction rashes from paddling, small cuts that burned more and more with each stroke. The only thing that motivated me to keep surfing was the idea that the waves were clean and five to seven feet, and I would regret it in the future if I didn’t catch every possible wave throughout this trip. This photo was taken around 5:00 pm, and I knew that my time surfing in the warm water was dwindling. I took this wave knowing that it wouldn’t be a good one, but hopeful that I would be able to find a section to hit. Being one of the smaller waves, I gained as much speed as possible and hit the lip to rebound off the end section as the wave was closing out. You can see the lip of the wave behind my board being split, spray repelling off the fins over the back of the wave. Surfing such perfect conditions, I would feel a sharpened focus that would motivate me to catch each wave, regardless of size and surf it as well as possible, knowing that we would soon return to the cold waters of New England with much less consistent swell. This image serves as an important reminder that during these unique opportunities to surf in different environments, I should be sure to fully immerse myself, because even the smallest waves can foster core memory that not only defines the experience, but fuels my drive to improve.

This photo was taken in July of 2022, and it was during one of the large Gnome Surf camps that I help to run every week, in addition to the private 1:1 surf therapy sessions that I give. This athlete that I was working with was so excited to be in the water, but nervous to stand up on the board. This meant that we ended up just riding the whitewash with him sitting down until he felt more comfortable. Something that I make sure to do with every athlete is that I work to meet them where they are. This means that if the athlete is nervous, I will focus on how I can help them feel safe, comfortable, and excited while surfing because joy only comes when we feel truly safe. If the athlete communicates verbally, I’ll speak to them with words as well as gesture, touch and body language. If the athlete is non-verbal, I will primarily use body language to interact. Communication in surf therapy is more about listening to each athlete and what hopes and fears they have. If the athlete is more comfortable in the water and on the surfboard, I will give them more independence on the board, while giving them instruction that will help them progress and evolve. One of my favorite aspects of the work I do at Gnome Surf is being able to share my passion for the ocean and surfing with the athletes that I teach. I work to build a sense of connection and enduring relationships with the athletes I work with lesson after lesson and year after year, helping them feel empowered in the water, building confidence that they can carry with them into their daily lives. This photograph really captures the transformative experience of connection that takes place in the water and in surf therapy - not only am I leading the lesson, giving the athlete a source of joy that they can rely on for their whole life, but their joy reminds me of the importance of the work, and connecting to one’s passion.

Throughout this project, I have not only reflected on my passion for the ocean but I have learned skills that are important in photography, and strengthened my love for observing as an artist and a conservationist. When I was writing my first short essay about that photograph of the first sunrise that we had at The Island School, I didn’t know what to look for within the photo and I didn’t know what piece of the photo could help me tell a story. By writing more and more of the photo essays, I learned how to “read” the photos. I started looking for different colors, textures, and hues, noticing the different ways that these aspects of the photo portray a message or feeling. This ability to explore the photos began to help me when I was taking photos, as I began to observe and actively look for the different ways that nature could depict a certain feeling or emotion, using perspective to show the range of what it can feel like to be immersed within the environment. This practice of finding hidden parts of the photo affected how I edited them, as I would look to add effects that could sometimes completely shift the way the photo was interpreted, and experienced. 

When I first started using a camera at the beginning of my time at The Island School, I knew that I wanted to take photos and later look back at them, remembering the experience in ways that allowed me to relive it. I realized that to get to this level of photography was hard, and that to capture a moment as well as the emotions that I felt, I needed to understand how the things outside the frame still affect my photos. Whether this was light, shadows, or another person, I was always working to understand the different ways that a photograph can be understood, and how an experience can be translated into an image that can evoke feeling in a viewer. In this project, I wanted to focus on the photos that I took at The Island School, capturing different moments around the ocean when I was fully immersed in my environment, and I wanted to link these photos back with images that have been taken since then, including photographs that were taken by other people but that revealed my immersion and passion for the ocean, and the natural world. Before I began this project, since I returned from The Island School in December 2021, I had not had an extensive period of time to reflect on and learn from the things that I experienced while I was there for the 100 day semester. This project - and the time I dedicated to it - has allowed me to reflect not just on the photographs but the experience itself and how it continues to live within me and impact my present and future. My goal during this Independent Study was focusing “on the role that photography can play in the conservation of the ocean and its surrounding shoreline…[and] how when we focus our attention on the unique and powerful beauty of the ocean and its surrounding ecosystems, we are inspired to be stewards of the environment”. This work that I have done in the Independent Study feels revelatory, because it is a template for future work I want to do, both in my college life and in my career.