I learnt the meaning of the word “teal” during lockdown, sometime between late May and early June 2020. I had known the colour but did not know the name. I may have even called it aquamarine before. 

I learnt the word serendipitously, as great encounters go, and while experiencing the openness to time afforded by the lockdown. I acknowledge that this openness comes along the privilege of experiencing the lockdown as a sort of retreat towards the self, and therefore as an opportunity to spend time in contemplation. Yet, in hindsight, learning about teal and spending time in reflection also kept me sane amidst the drift of tragedy, uncertainty, and irregular intensities. I decided to start cycling every day, and to use those moments of regained solitude to take photographs with my phone’s camera. 

This became an everyday ritual. I came to understand teal during my rides, to envision its enchantment, and to feel its texture. It reminded me of the sea, and how much I have forgotten about it while living in Singapore. I rode to the sea every day, and every day I spent a while in its contemplation.

The images in this offering are variations of the same photograph. The original photograph was taken at the edge of the Barrage, on the southernmost tip of the Singapore Bay. The first variation is on silver tones and magnifies the contrast between sea and sky. The other emphasizes the contrasts between blue and green hues to highlight the teal undertones in the sea. Derivations of a deeply contemplative photograph, both are expressions of the array of thoughts, emotions, and reflections that plagued and purged me during the lockdown. In whatever variation, the dynamic between depth and movement is probably what draws me into and out of the photograph – it is as if I was coming out of the sea yet being pulled back in. 

Since I was a child, I envision my relationship with the ocean as a sort of confession. Every time I meet the sea, I run to it and have a little dialogue with the water, offering whatever is troubling me and asking to be shaken off it by the waves. I then spend hours in end swimming, and when time comes to say goodbye, I thank the water and bid it farewell. 

These images express that dialogue. Dancing in the water, talking to the ocean, diving with one conflict and swimming out with regained depth. Perhaps the greatest lesson of the plague so far has been to accept, to flow, to wave – yet not to waver – and let foam be foam. The second greatest lesson was to learn that teal is a word used to name both an ocean-like colour and a small migratory duck. Indeed, teal is ocean fly away. 

ABOUT THE ARTIST

Felipe Cervera is a theatremaker, writer and academic. He is a lecturer in Theatre at LASALLE College of the Arts in Singapore, and Graduate Faculty at the Centre for Drama, Theatre & Performance Studies of the University of Toronto in Canada. His research interests are the interplays between performance, science and technology as well as collaborative academia (teaching and research). He has been based in Singapore since 2012, where he directs for the stage and is a regular contributor to public forums about theatre and performance. Felipe serves as co-editor of Global Performance Studies and associate editor of Performance Research.