Sarah Crawford Handcrafted

 
 

Between

Sailing requires time and a willingness to let the wind take you where it may. It offers the possibility of discovery. It takes us to remote islands, quiet coves, and small towns with a general store, a single restaurant, and people who are genuinely friendly. There is raw, magnificent beauty that can feel mystical at times and soft and inherently calming at others. It can be piercingly bright, but it is never too blue, too green, or too spectacular. A rainy afternoon as beautiful, if not more so, than what my husband calls “a Chamber of Commerce kind of day.”

Along the way, you also see playful seals, quirky sunfish, majestic whales, elusive puffins and petrels, and powerful hunters like eagles and ospreys. Solitary sailors drift toward the horizon, and lobster pots wink at you through the fog. There is always something that calls for you to stop, look, and to reach for your camera. But that is not what this collection is about.

I believe in a collective consciousness.

I have come to understand that my most creative moments occur at the threshold between sleep and wakefulness. In that suspended state, if the the mind is open, inspiration is fluid and available if you are receptive to it.

Between inhabits that space.

These photographs explore the openness of the universe, the mind holding onto distant memories, the search for clarity within fog, and the fleeting moment when darkness becomes light. Horizons fade. Familiar forms dissolve. Solitary points of light suggest a presence without actually revealing it. Sea and sky merge until it is difficult to know where one ends and the other begins, and light feeds the power of the moment in between.

This collection is also about the interior space created through isolation—not loneliness, but a chosen stillness that allows for reflection, connection, and spirituality. These are not simply photographs of places encountered while sailing. They are photographs of moments when the visible world seems to open into something larger: the quiet, mysterious space between what we see, what we remember, and what we sense is there.