A creature that transforms its own world, and body. The idea excites every square inch of my imagination.
Cicadas live underground for years, and they look like this dude up above. But the word Cicada almost always conjures up something with wings, that sings and buzzes all summer long.
If I see a Cicada, there is a good chance that I'm going to pick it up force it to model for me. I mean, just look at those wings!
But they don't just fascinate me visually, they are are a treasure trove of metaphors. About life, about change, about being a cool looking bug.
Empty shells, an Echo of what they were turn up everywhere to point out their metamorphosis.
After spending years underground, some up to 17 years, they crawl up into the light. They may simply crawl to the surface, or higher on up shrubs, telephone poles, or trees. After an entire lifetime underground, they come up into the light. Split their backs apart, unfold themselves, and take their first strokes into the sky.
Imagine leaving behind everything in your old life, fears, regrets, worries, becoming something new and beautiful. Letting the sun touch your skin for the first time, and gliding effortlessly through a world unlike anything you've ever known
I would bet that Cicadas talk about "going to heaven" before they emerge from beneath the soil.
They are shrouded in mystery. In my life, I've only dug up one, and that was pretty recently. Are they exploring underground, or just waiting. There is a good chance I will never know.
When I photograph one of these creatures, it is not to say "Hey, look, I found a bug." It is an attempt to imagine and glance into another world.