Joy Kuang, Canada

I approached “meridian” as an arbitrary marker of sorts, as in the way humans divide up time, geography, and lives. Despite their arbitrary nature, the effects of these divisions are still relevant and meaning can be extracted from a tangle of coincidences at any point in time. Taken at a 5:17 p.m. somewhere in the northern hemisphere last November, “Reflections” reveals a boundary drawn on an otherwise peaceful lake, inferred only through a few subtle ripples. Though there is surely a world beyond the surface, the ripples, which are themselves caused by contact between tree and water, present a distorted image of the dangling branches and leaves. How else can one find a border and determine its use without pushing into it, especially if it is invisible from most angles? And perhaps the only way to understand one’s self is by bumping into said borders, creating distorted images of the self, and reflecting upon them. I don’t know. At the end of the day, I’m just presenting a photograph of a lake I saw as I walked back to my home for that month that evening.

Joy Kuang has recently returned home from travelling and working in Japan for a year after graduating. She was an associate editor and contributor to The Lyre, her university’s student-run literary journal. She enjoys photography, reading, writing, and has a newfound love for walking around random streets.