4:18
Wondering
I became thoroughly fascinated in the rhythm between Earth and sun after a visit to the Newgrange Passage Tomb in Ireland. Newgrange is a sacred site in the Boyne Valley constructed around 3,000 BC — making it older than the Egyptian pyramids. The tomb consists of a large circular mound or cairn, a passage-grave, and massive kerb stones carved with ancient symbology. Newgrange is known famously for the illumination of its central chamber which only receives direct light at sunrise on a clear winter solstice morning.
Newgrange Passage Tomb, County Meath, Ireland 2019
During a visit in 2019, my tour guide pointed across the valley to a specific hill on the southeastern horizon. She explained that this particular hill marks the location of sunrise during the shortest days of winter. She then pointed to a hill on the northeastern horizon to indicate where the sun rises during the longest days of summer. She went on to say that building monuments to align with solstices and equinoxes, though a sacred and tremendous feat, isn’t some radical mystery — it’s a matter of observation.
I looked back and forth between the two hills and began to wonder. If this was a matter of witnessing, I wanted to see for myself.
Kerbstone carved with megalithic art at Knowth, a neighboring passage-tomb, 2019
Ritual
On the winter solstice in 2021 I began taking 11 photos each day at 4:18pm: NW, N, NE, E, SE, S, SW, W + the sky above my head, my feet on the earth, and a selfie. By taking pictures at the same time each day I would be able to track the progress of the sun’s movement over the year. 4:18pm is the time of sunset on the winter solstice where I was living. Each day for one year, my alarm went off at 4:18pm reminding me to go outside and photograph the sky. This daily ritual captured increments of change between the sun and Earth as well as in my own life.
4:18: West, December 2021 - May 2022, Ledyard, CT
Noticings
I didn’t know what — if anything — would come of this project.
When I organized photos for the first quarter the year I was so excited to see a clear progression of the sun moving higher in the sky. Being outside every day at 4:18pm was an anchor point from which I could observe small gradations of change. The sun was barely peaking through the trees at winter solstice then little by little made its way higher towards the peak of summer.
I thought often about the words we use — sunrise and sunset — to describe what we see from Earth. To us, the sun appears to rise even though we are the ones orbiting a star. I’m not suggesting we change this language, rather that it points to our very human habit of perceiving things from our individual corners of the universe and that we have endless opportunities to broaden our field of view.
4:18pm West, June 2022 - December 2022, Hartford, CT
Though I didn’t see sunrise and sunset every day, I periodically tracked their movement along the horizon using a compass. It was entirely possible to witness the broadening distance northward into summer and the gathering southward back to winter. By the end of the year, I knew which landmarks aligned with the solstice sunrises and sunsets just like the two hills at Newgrange.
Over the course of the year I captured the sun’s increasing stretch across the sky and its return southward, like the earth taking one long breath in and releasing one long breath out. As I complied the photos of my feet on the earth, I was struck by how much life one year can hold. It blows my mind to recognize the beauty happening around us all the time. This familiar rhythm of Earth and sun, enabling us to be alive and grow food and to be warm and to sleep at night, it’s exquisite, astounding.
Watching the sky has become second nature — or perhaps first nature — and I find myself in even greater awe of being alive.
4:18: Ground, December 2021 - December 2022
