We went right into the storm. The sky closed in and the ocean swelled leaving us to the graces of the open water. Stories of pirates in this territory lingered in my mind, but were soon forgotten as the rain poured down like razor blades. I grabbed the closest life vest to shield my face and looked back at the fearful crew. The moment seemed to stand still as I watched the expressions of my crewmates transition from fear to helplessness. However, I could not help but find such beauty in the power of nature. Our lives are so miniscule in the furry of the wild. After an hour the water calmed. It was as smooth as glass and reflected the stormy sky as if we were floating in the belly of the beast. We had entered the eye of the storm. This was something I had only heard about in stories. The eerie calmness only an illusion and the darkness waiting for us in the distance looked hungry. We braced ourselves and entered the abyss. I grasped the railing tightly trying my hardest not to be flung from our tiny boat, but the pounding rain loosened my grip. Lightning crashed down around us illuminating the faces of my fearful friends. The engine screamed with every hurling throw from the oceans waves. I reached a level of content with the idea that this might be how I go out. My body sinking to the bottom of the sea, lost in the colliding currents of rip tides and flashing memories. However, the rain began to slow and out from the distance a glimpse of land. There she was, Santos, beautifully draped along the shoreline with a boardwalk of street lamps. I have never felt so alive. I was inspired by the juxtaposition between the incredibly powerful chaos of the ocean and the rather mundane structures of man. The ocean my paint brush and the camera my canvas. Long exposures and geometric heartstrings glided delicately over the placid water holding me in the in-between.