Desolate branches left to wither, now blooming with flowers. Blinding rays trickling in through internodes, revealing a forgotten wonderland. Haunting faces and empty gazes...

With elegance and poise, At Night Gardens Grow transports us into a fictional realm where the boundaries between truth and fantasy become indiscernible. Like a tale passed on through whispers, Paul Guilmoth speaks to us fluidly -- like a stream of consciousness; they do so in a language composed of symbols and stories of a past haunted by lived experiences in a present where we strive to explore the secrets, history, and treasures beneath the surface.

To us, Guilmoth’s lens unfolded a portal into the fantastical, ancient, and wistful memory that seems so distant yet family all at once. While this could’ve been a projection of their imagination, Guilmoth opened up to describe the inspiration behind their photobook: it is a dedication to Trula Drinkard-Goolsby, who passed on July 17th, 2021 after one last day laying in the field that is not only pictured here, but is evidently an essential part of her being and of Guilmoth’s tale.

In their own words: “The week before Trula died, she began spending entire days reclined in her field. Her body would be so still we’d come up closer to be sure she hadn’t left us. A slight movement of her head chasing a loose swallow, or a finger grazing a plucked blade of grass was enough. Tuesday night she had come into the kitchen after a particularly long 12 hours in her field. Her hair disheveled like a bird nest. She looked at a rhubarb stalk on the table and said to us ‘all this time I’ve never seen the flowers growing, but they’re taller every morning.’”

A similar field which Guilmoth refers to in describing their muse becomes a realistic backdrop in which the added elements of this mythology soon come to life. Shown only in the context of nighttime, evident through provoking, contrasting shades of black and white, references to natural elements are intertwined with feelings of solitude in an eerie setting. From blazing house-fires in the distance, to the vacant stares of unfamiliar faces, to fingers pointing at a subject out of frame, Guilmoth’s mastery of visual storytelling and negative space invites us to fill in the blanks and create the narrative with them. By opening up this dialogue grounded in a place that is merely a figment of our imaginations -- a conversation fueled by questions of the absurd and authentic -- they allow for impactful emotions and existential dreads to be contained within a still image.

As these exchanges become the driving force for us to flick through the pages, we feel as though we are transverse through the multiple phases of the depiction of human life. With the contrasting white background and minimalism allowing us to absorb every syllable of the stories being told through these images, the one motif that becomes apparent is the graceful metaphor of resilience, strength, survival, and fragility: spider webs.

A spider web doesn’t intercept its prey; it attracts them. Similarly, the scenes here never once intercept the train of thoughts we have been forming from the front cover, nor do these snapshots impede on our versions of reality. Instead, the fabricated landscapes they have constructed -- a perfect mirage of palpable yet whimsical -- lures us in; here, we enter a spiral that is Guilmoth’s take on reality.

While many will say that this is, in essence, an elegy written by Guilmoth in the language of photography, the effect of each image perhaps reaches far beyond the scope of an elegy. In fact, it documents the journey of our own lives -- one riddled with truths we did not choose but must accept, the treacherous path we embark on as we navigate the terrains of identity, and the elements of fiction from our dreams and ideals that we weave into our realities.

Laced with the subtle sentiment of grief, Guilmoth strikes a certain tenderness that verbalises the commemoration of life in a way words would fail. But rather than honing in on one specific emotion that comes with memorialising their muse, the world they have opened up forces us to ponder the very nature of life: how the constraints of our own fear juxtaposes the freedom we strive for, how the concept of fragility -- in itself -- comes with so much strength, and how our ruminations as we venture into mystique is grounded in our reality.

As we close the pages to Guilmoth’s book, one thing is for certain: the story does not end. Instead, like Guilmoth has carried the spirit of their muse’s life into these pages, we continue to carry the questions, narratives, and contemplations inspired by their work into our lives, weaving these lessons into our internal dialogues.

Perhaps this is Guilmoth’s lasting message: we must allow the fanciful into the stories of our lives, but always ground ourselves in reality and take a step back to take in the world we have individually created. Afterall, in the words of the late and beloved Trula, we may never see “the flowers growing, but they’re taller every morning.”

Self-portrait as my friend © Paul Guilmoth

Paul Guilmoth is a photographer based in rural New England. They graduated with a MFA in Photography from Maine College of Art in 2015 and co-founded the publication studio Wilt Press. They have had exhibitions globally, including Leica Gallery (London, UK), Aviary Gallery (Boston, MA), Red Hook Labs (New York, NY), El Museo Cultural de Santa Fe (Sante Fe, NM), among many others. Most notably, their collaboration in the collection ‘Sleep Creek’ is featured in New York City’s Museum of Modern Art. Guilmoth has won many awards, including The Fujifilm Young Talent Award, Red hook Labs’ Award for New Artists, and Best Photobook of 2019. Their photobook, At Night Gardens Grow is currently available for pre-order and selected works will be on exhibition in London.

At Night Gardens Grow were released in 2021 and are available for purchase from Stanley/Barker.