BLUE CAVIAR

The nursery is behind them.

Now they glide.

Beneath the blue surface, the adult sturgeons move with a calm that would probably drive the youngsters mad. Long bodies, wide arcs, hardly a movement too many.

Grown-ups, apparently.

Sturgeons can live for a very long time. Perhaps, at some point, you simply lose interest in rushing.

They move through the water as if elegance were not an intention, but something that arrives with age. Bodies become lines, light becomes layer, shadow becomes depth. At the centre, a fin breaks through the surface — small, almost incidental, and yet it holds the entire image together.

Around it, a vortex begins.

Not a storm.

More the quiet consequence of movement.

BLUE CAVIAR shows the other side of the story: not the restless beginning, but the composed form that comes after.

GREEN CAVIAR has the kindergarten.

BLUE CAVIAR has the grown-ups.

And they appear to have learned long ago that there is little reason to move faster when you can glide better.