Jenny Kruckeberg – Déjà Vu

Lately, I have been returning to familiar landscapes, literal and figurative, and experiencing intense déjà vu. Immersed in a moment, I am struck by the feeling that I have lived it before and know exactly how it will unfold. Time slows. My senses are heightened. I am acutely aware of every minute detail and of myself as both participant and observer. And then I begin to see variation: initially, differences seem subtle, but the closer I look, the more obvious  they seem. The sense of déjà vu cracks. In truth, I don’t know how this will play out.  

So I study these landscapes. Retracing my steps, camera in hand, I get in close to examine details, I pull back to see the context. Each photo is an intimate study of something that had gone unnoticed—or hadn’t even been there—before: a seed pod, opened then windblown, the necessary disruption of its symmetry; rain water collected, then frozen, then fractured; geometric fields carved into hills and along rivers. 

Taking pictures in familiar places invites curiosity. I can step back from what I think I know, and explore what I wonder, tapping into the dynamic juxtaposition of the known and unknown. The reverse happens, too. In new-to-me places I experience déjà vu: details pop—textures, patterns, shapes, lines, colors—because they echo photos I have taken before, revealing links between landscapes, between experiences. 

The old feels new, and the new feels old, and it all feels connected.