Short Brown Grass by Anna Brody

Issue 92

I live for now in Savannah, Georgia – part of the deep south of the USA – where there is much injustice, but also beauty. I’ve been here for three years and have only just begun to understand what pictures I need to be taking; this series is called Short Brown Grass, and all of the images have been taken within the past 12 months. I believe photography is the best tool we have to define the unquantifiable, and I use it here to better understand the incalculable particulars of this place – specifically, the deep torpor of a place steeped in the southern tradition of slowness. A place where the people, the government, and the built landscape sit for hours, weeks, and years on a damp cushion of deliberate indolence. It is beautiful, in the way that slow-motion dreams are beautiful; you get to see what happens between moments – every sparkling drop, every shifting leaf, and every day that seems to be made only of one long, arcing sunrise and sunset with no harsh noon in the middle. But in those dreams, where you can’t move any faster, sometimes there is something terrifying that is behind you and should be much further behind you but at the rate you’re going you realize that it isn’t very far away at all, and is in fact going to catch up with you if you don’t wake up right now.

Anna Brody lives and works in Savannah, Georgia.
To view more of Anna's work, please visit her website.