“I salute at the threshold of the North Sea of my mind, and I nod to the boredom that drove me here to face the tide… and I swim”
-Scott Hutchinson

      The Greek word for “return” is nostos. The word for “suffering” is algos. Combining the meaning of these two words gives us the definition for nostalgia. Nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. In the year 2003, Scott Hutchinson and his brother, Grant Hutchinson, started a band called Frightened Rabbit. It has been commonly agreed upon by listeners that this band has an ominous characteristic hidden within its melodic facilities, produced by the harrowing pain we have all tolerated, the loss of love. The sadistic, solipsistic lyrics written by Hutchinson interrogate your soul and entice the regrets of your past. However, this limbo is loved and sought by those who have felt the weight of Hutchinson’s lyrics. 

     On April 2, 2014, Luke Caddy and Ryan Welborn set out to capture the essence of these lyrics based on their perception of Hutchinson’s twinges and qualms.  Each man involved has, in his own way, swallowed the reality of the past and accepted it’s shaping of their present. These images have been taken in hope to motivate those who are caught in the dominant dread that nostalgia so easily entangles you in. These are not all the pieces to be found in the flood and the return to misery is inevitable at various stages in life, yet progression individually and corporately is to be sought and by us, solicited.  We have understood various parts of the agony and certain parts of our individual minds have been lit and restored; yet we are both aware that the dark can return with the flick of a switch. Well, it hasn’t turned on us yet, yet. 

Here's the evidence of human existence.

Are you a man or a bag of sand?

She poked the iris, then she pierced a hole and watched the colour rush forth.

Fall down, find God just to lose it again. Glue the community together we were hammering it. Fell down, found love, but I can to lose again. Now our communal heart it beats miles from here.

There is bone, there is gristle, and spit in the clotheless wrestle with the clotheless animal.

So I shed my clothes, I shed my flesh down to the bone and burned the rest.

I wonder if they'd notice that I'm not around, the loss of a lonely man never makes much of a sound.

And as the body succumbs and my mouth goes numb, I limp out to the sound of the breaking of broken toes, a vandal spoke.

She is there on the shoreline throwing stones on my back.

She was not the cure for cancer and all my questions still ask for answers.

Oh, the loneliness and the scream to fill a thousand black balloons with air.

And the water is taller than me and the land is a marker line. All I have is a body adrift in water, salt and sky.