On Maniototo Station Road.

The Norwest wind has been buffeting the district all day, throwing its weight around, thumping the buildings like an out-of-sorts and grumpy bully, who, because he can't get his way, stomps scowling away down the street, knocking over all the rubbish tins as he goes. He has managed to do some damage. A friend, who lives just around the corner, shows me the sagging remains of a brand new tin garden shed, punched out by the strength of the wind. The cloud cows are back, ruminating their way across the sky, casting vast pools of shadow as they meander east.

As the day draws on I find myself getting increasingly itchy, moving outside to stare at the sky, to watch all the action and wonder how I can participate. In the end the day gets the better of me and I have to go. I pack my equipment and head out of town, moving up towards the light. The truck is lurching and shuddering in the wind, and when I stop by the Shoe Fence and get out for a look, it seems as if the whole landscape is on the move. To the south, the clouds are moving much more slowly across the Lammermoor Range, dragging their wispy, diaphanous rain skirts. The ones above the Old Man Range are much more impressive, big bloated pompous things with puffed out chests, while those off to the north linger, thin and anorexic. Around me the grasses are hissing angrily, furious at being treated in such a fashion. But it is still early and the sun hasn't sunk low enough for the shadows to bring texture to the land. So I drive on.

Then I am back at Wedderburn and this time I turn left onto Maniototo Station Road. It stretches emaciated and barren away to the South, a line of pale yellow splitting the landscape. I follow it down, my vehicle hardly raising any dust from its bony surface. The road lingers along for a bit then abruptly arises onto a small plateau, trickles a little further then abruptly splits in two. Ahead of me, shrinking into the distance is Maniototo Station Road, veering off to the right Highfield Road. Either way looks just as good, either way is full of possibilities.

At first I ponder which of these two roads I should take, especially since the light is now getting to the point of being critical. I know that whichever one I choose will dictate the pictures I am able to make: take the wrong road and the results could be disappointing. The secret then is to choose the correct one. I ponder this for a time as I look around myself at the landscape, the light, the weather and the day. It occurs to me that life is like that; a series of intersections or choices. Each decision we make will have ramifications for the rest of our lives. So I need to choose wisely. In the end I do neither and begin photographing the intersection itself. Somehow there is something iconic about this place, a kind of visual metaphor for Choice and Consequence.

Later, as I edit the image, I realise that colour does not suit it, that the binary nature of Choice dictates it should be black and white.

Art imitates life imitates art.