There Is A time To Every Purpose Under Heaven

How to honor the best dog ever.

Just about a month ago, Susanne Helmert, wrote a piece about her newest photo-zine, called, Time, is an Ocean. It was a tribute to Ben, the best dog ever.

Ben, was a good dog. He was the greatest Dog Explorer of the last 100 years. He was also the best dog for a photographer that anyone could hope for. Susanne would tell been to stand there and look majestic, and dammit, Ben was the most majestic dog ever!

How do you say goodbye, to a dog like that?

For Susanne, you make a zine, and a beautiful one at that.

Time is an Ocean

When I saw that Susanne was selling these zines, I rushed to order my own, before they were all gone. I ordered one, it was shipped, it made across the Atlantic, and I got it a couple of days ago. I took pictures, thought about the zine, and now I am ready to give my review.

This is what came out of the box. Is that cool, or what?

That is not the book, itself, that is the protective cover. That corrugated paper is something that you might find in a shipping supply store.

In fact, all of the materials that you see right here are very common, easy to find, but the way Susanne put them together strikes me as being influenced by a Japanese esthetic: simple products, put together with elegance. When I opened the lid on the box, and saw this, I might have let out a very quiet squeal of joy.

I have bought phonebooks and zines from folks on Substack before, and every one of the sellers has included a note like this. I want to reiterate, this is a key thing to do, if you are thinking about selling small printings of your work, online; make an effort to build a personal connection with the buyer. Handwritten, not printed.

There is an opaque sheet of some type that covers the title page, not entirely certain what the sheet is called, but it is a nice touch.

Here is the back. No embellishment, because nothing is needed here.

I decided to buy Susanne’s book when I found out that she had put it together as a tribute to Ben. I am all about good dogs. I knew that Susanne, would make a great book, for Ben, and I was right.

On the next page, Susanne, gives us something to think about, as we look through her pictures.

It is after this point, that we begin to see what Susanne has collected to honor Ben, and to contemplate the passage of time. All of the pictures can be seen as relating to time, its passage, and the effects of that passage on us.

Susanne, mentioned Heraclitus, and two famous quotes attributed to him; one on change, and one regarding how time effects that change.

Susanne, has provided three types of photos in this collection, and rather than go through this zine in the order that the pictures are presented, I am going to group these three types of photographs together, and make my remarks about each group.

First, the ocean.

If you believe such things, It was within the oceans of earth that life first formed. Consciously, or not, Susanne starts us out, “In the beginning”.

The place where the sand meets the sea is a liminal space, a space for creation and destruction. It is the space that meets all of Heraclitus’ conditions. Unique moments are created with the passing of every wave, they will never be seen again, and can never be recreated.

The moment has been created, and as soon as we have seen it, the moment has passed us. Have we recognized the ephemeral nature of the moment? Did we have a companion with whom we could share that moment?

Such is the nature of our short time on earth.

The ephemeral nature of the wave, its journey through the ocean, the fulfillment of its purpose on the sand, and the arc of its life - before it disappears forever - is an apt metaphor for our own existence. We can only hope that, having found ourselves existing for a brief moment in time, that another soul has seen us, and has experienced with us, our brief moment.

For Susanne, that ephemeral moment, was seen, and experienced with her, by Ben.

The next group of photographs that Susanne shows us, are the places where the land and sea transition; where creation and destruction exist, simultaneously.

The scale of time that is evidenced in these photographs is longer than what we experience in the surf, but that is simply a matter of degree; the process is the same.

This section of the beach is subject to the same forces that shift the sand at the surf-line, but we have more time to experience these places, to take walks with friends, to sit in the sand and listen to the waves.

The cliffs, allow us to see the deposition of time, time that came before us. The cliffs are tall, strong, and contain the visual evidence ten-thousand years, but they are not permanent. Of course, we understand this, intellectually, but when we can sit on the top of a cliff, with our dog, we tend to forget the passage of time.

As the cliffs slowly erode, as the sea sends waves to sculpt the beach, as we walk with our dog, we find the detritus of the sea, partially hidden from us, but seen, nonetheless.

It is this last group of photographs that, to me, presents the most poignant Momento Mori.

I am touched by these photos, more than most, because I too, collect such things. I have a splendid collection of smooth rocks, some from the shore, some from river beds, some from the side of a trail. All of them have caught my eye, and all of them have meaning for me. They are talismans for my memories.

I cannot speak for Susanne’s reasoning for including these specific groups of small objects in her catalogue, but they all share one specific trait: they bear evidence of having been in contact with the Ocean, and Time, Is An Ocean.

Contact with the ocean tends to soften hard edges, it gives texture to what was once smooth and featureless. Both the ocean, and time, lift us into a maelstrom, mixing us together with many others, and, depositing us on the shore next to those we did not know before. If we are lucky, we can spend time next to someone special, someone with a tail.

My guess is, Susanne has kept all of these objects of the sea; I would.

The weight of the rock, in the hand, can stimulate the memories in a specific way that a visual record cannot. While these objects might not seem to be related to the memory of Ben, I can see how they might be.

Finally, here is the thing that warms my collector’s heart. Having this information, permanently attached to the book, provides incontrovertible provenance.

There were only 15 of these gorgeous books made, all by hand, everyone by Susanne, and I was fortunate enough to get one.