Words + Photographs by Caroline Tompkins
I met Cape Cod slowly. The first time was at my friend Tim’s house in Falmouth with eight other photographer friends. We walked on foggy beaches, and took turns to see who could throw a rock the farthest. All of my pictures from that trip are pictures of people taking pictures. Everyone thinks traveling with photographers will be fun until three people are rigging up a speedlight to a tree for an hour. Photography on the Cape is mythological and spoken in whispers. “I heard Philip Lorca Dicorcia photographed in a modern house nearby,” or “Ryan McGinley always stays in a shack on the dune hike.” You’re haunted by Joel Meyerowitz’s light. Will photography ever make me enough money to ride my bike in the Cape all summer long?
My friend’s parents have no idea how much they’ve impacted my life by making responsible financial decisions. Growing up in Ohio, I believed everyone was bound for tragedy. The factory will close. You’ll get addicted to something, it will ruin your life. If you don’t know what your tragedy is yet, just wait a little longer. When my dad went to rehab in California, my mom traveled with him to drop him off. Before she left, she went skydiving nearby so she could “make the trip worth it.” Humans make plans. God laughs.
I was in Cincinnati one summer when I got a last-minute invite to Kenyon’s cabin in Wellfleet. When considering cutting my Ohio trip short, my mom said, “If you get an invitation to paradise, you should take it.” It was in Wellfleet where I really met Cape Cod. The outer Cape had a lawless isolation that I hadn’t found anywhere else. The sandy backroads made me feel like I could drink a beer in the car. I don’t even drink beer. I had never wanted to slow down before. I couldn’t care less about an email. If I talked about work here, I’d die.
Kenyon’s cabin made me believe in pictures again. Suddenly, I started to see the potential in the everyday. I’d swim the length of Long Pond and back just to impress the group. We could always find a new pond to swim naked in. The black hairs on my chest stood up and danced like leeches. I’d guess at how long I was allowed to look at everyone else’s bodies. Blueberries lined our walks, and I felt embarrassed that I didn’t know the names of any of the plants. Everywhere I look, I don’t know where I am. Could this be America, too? I yell out to the group, “All mushrooms are edible, some only once!” After dinner, we’d run back to Long Pond and float in the moonlight. Butts and bullfrogs. I know it sounds sexy, but it wasn’t. It felt like I had gotten closer to finishing the puzzle of myself.
At the cabin, Kevin became the director of elaborate pictures. He’d look each person in the eye and say, “I need you to do this for me.” He taught me that assertion is different from aggression. I didn’t know then that I could expect the best and get it. The tongue always goes to the tooth that hurts. I used to joke that he’d become a famous photographer and say, “I started taking pictures because I had a girlfriend who was into photography.”
Everyone thinks Cape Cod is their boyfriend, their special place. They want to protect it, and I understand why. It’s shrinking, after all. Every local wants to see if you pass the vibe check. Names are exchanged like a currency: Kepes, Hatch, Weidlinger, Rossi. If you say the right road names in the right order, you might be added to someone’s house-sitting list.
Now, when I’m in Wellfleet, my hair is always wet. I’ve watched my friend group expand and contract. I got engaged in the sluiceway. My face is thinner. My dermatologist said I smile too much, and it’s ruining my skin. All of the pictures I take there are just images of the light filtered through trees. I can never remember the word for it in Japanese, but it’s komorebi.
Sitting on a dock looking out over Long Pond, my friend Bobby and I talked about how a photographer’s talent is on a bell curve with their age. You start bad and you end bad, but hopefully, you figure it out in the middle. Eric Rohmer wrote, “What’s interesting about mankind is what is permanent and eternal.” If I can remember that, maybe my graph will look different.
