As a night owl, getting up at 4:45 to catch the Sunrise is hard to imagine, let alone pull off. The fact that I was on holiday made it even harder to justify, but once we were stood on the cliff edge at Cadgwith, a beautiful little fishing village on the east coast of the Cornish Lizard, we realised it was entirely worth it.
Gently shutting the car door and strolling down the steep hill, camera in hand, it was hard not to let the sound of my footsteps echo loudly. The silence was not only audible, you could feel the stillness from behind every cottage window and door. The sun had not yet peeked above the horizon, and the light was still fairly low- and somehow, not flat.
Everything had a luminous, silvery glow; the air was crisp and cold, and the colour palette before the sun's warmth, was cool and grey to match.
Once we had crossed the cobbled beach, and navigated our way around the fishing boats, anchor chains and sky-high piles of lobster pots, we were both stood at the shoreline.
There was little wind, and the Sea was therefore invitingly calm. We skimmed stones for a while, until we looked up and realised that the small brush strokes of pink had gradually turned to sweeps of gold and orange across the clouds. My fellow adventurer excitedly scaled the side of the cliff, and took a risky walk along a ledge (less than a foot wide with a 15 ft or so drop either side) for a better view. Seeing him stand out there, only highlighted the epic scale of the spectacle. I had had my eye and lens in the quaint detailing of the village's character, but the theatre of the sunrise was fast out-doing it for drama. I'm sure I'm not the first to say this,
but there was a music and volume to the colour and change that it brought. It was like the stillness and silence before the sun, in both palette and place, was blasted into life- both operatic and cinematic.
It's not necessarily a time I will regularly return to, (once a night owl...) but the experience of Sunrise was a beautiful one. Shooting during this transition, made me even more sensitive to the changes in light- and this is the heart of photography for me; a dynamic but sensitive dialogue with light. It's a language I can only keep learning.. Sat tired but in awe, the following Shakespeare quote crossed my mind..
"...Better three hours too early, than a minute too late..."
Thank you 'Sleepy Cadgwith'.