Tag: Michael Stephen Wills photography

Myth and Art: The Sirens of Punta de las Salinas

At Punta de las Salinas, Lily Perkins’ sculptures embody siren mythology, merging art with the rugged beauty of nature’s edge.

MichaelStephenWills9 Comments

The wind carried the scent of the sea as we stood at Punta de las Salinas, the furthest tip of Punta del Este, Uruguay. This was a place of myth and mystery for us, where the Atlantic Ocean merged with the Río de la Plata, and where the rocks bore witness to the timeless interplay of water and stone. Here stood “El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids), an evocative art installation by Lily Perkins, first completed in 2012. The sculptures seemed perfectly at home here, their placement deeply intertwined with the mythology they evoked.

This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. This is the art installation El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids) (2012) by the artist Lily Perkins. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay

The sirens of ancient lore were said to dwell at perilous points where land met the untamed sea, luring sailors to their doom with haunting songs. These rocky outcrops, both a boundary and a threshold, have long held symbolic power as places where the natural world is at its most raw and elemental. Punta de las Salinas is such a place. Its jagged rocks and churning waves create an environment as beautiful as it is treacherous. It is easy to imagine mythical sirens choosing this very spot to weave their spellbinding melodies.

This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. This is the art installation El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids) (2012) by the artist Lily Perkins. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay

Lily Perkins’ installation captures this essence. The sculptures are not idealized depictions of mermaids; they are rugged and raw, encrusted with shells, stones, and marine debris. Their weathered forms mirror the harsh, untamed beauty of their surroundings. It is as if they have emerged from the ocean itself, born of the waves and the salt-laden air, to stand as sentinels at the edge of the world.

The central figure, with her face turned skyward, evokes the myth of the siren’s song—a melody so enchanting that it drove sailors to risk their lives against the rocks. Her posture suggests longing, perhaps for a connection beyond the horizon, or perhaps for the very mortals she is fated to ensnare. Nearby, a broken figure reclines against the rocks, her form partially encased in green netting and mosaic-like tiles. She seems more grounded, her siren’s call muted, as if weighed down by the realities of the modern world. The use of marine materials in her construction—a blend of natural and human-made debris—suggests an awareness of humanity’s impact on the seas.

The third figure, slightly apart, is the most enigmatic. Encrusted with barnacles and weathered by the elements, she seems lost in thought. Her gaze is directed not toward the sea but toward the land, as if contemplating her place at this meeting of worlds. In mythology, sirens were liminal creatures, existing between realms—the sea and the shore, the mortal and the divine. This figure embodies that in-between state, rooted in the rocks yet shaped by the sea.

The placement of these sculptures at Punta de las Salinas is no accident. This headland is the easternmost point of Uruguay, a natural boundary and a crossroads where two vast bodies of water meet. For centuries, sailors navigated these waters, their journeys fraught with danger. The rocks here are unforgiving, and the waves crash with relentless power. To stand at this point is to feel the raw energy of the ocean and to understand why myths of sirens arose in such places. The sirens symbolize both allure and peril, a reminder of the ocean’s capacity to inspire and to destroy.

As I walked among the sculptures, the mythology seemed to come alive. The sound of the waves crashing against the rocks could easily be imagined as the sirens’ song—a hypnotic rhythm that draws you in and holds you spellbound. The figures, though silent, seemed to hum with an energy that echoed the sea’s eternal motion.

I feld these sculptures were not merely placed at Punta de las Salinas; but had emerged from it, their forms shaped by the same forces that shaped the rocks beneath our feet. The shells and stones embedded in their surfaces tied them physically to the sea, while their mythical resonance tied them spiritually to the place.

The mythology of the sirens speaks to the duality of the sea—its beauty and its danger, its capacity to give and to take away. Standing at Punta de las Salinas, surrounded by Perkins’ sculptures, I felt that duality in a profound way. The ocean stretched endlessly before us, a vast, unknowable expanse, while behind us lay the solid ground of the peninsula—a place of safety, but also a place that ended here, at this edge.

Lily Perkins sculptures are restored…..

As we left, the figures seemed to watch us go, their silent song lingering in my mind. The sirens of Punta del Este are more than art; they are a dialogue between myth and reality, between the natural world and the human imagination. In their weathered beauty, they remind us of the stories the sea has always told, and of the enduring power of those who give those stories form.

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Guardians of the Plateau: Brigham’s Tomb, the Stagecoach, and the King on His Throne

Here is a journey to Brigham’s Tomb in Monument Valley, reflecting on the land’s timelessness, silent presence, and the profound connection between the observer and natural formations.

MichaelStephenWills14 Comments

He did not come seeking answers, nor was he lost. The road had summoned him—as it had summoned others before him—and he followed its arc with the steadiness of one who does not hurry time. The sun was descending behind him, slow and inevitable, casting long golden blades across the plateau. That was how it wanted to be seen, and he did not interfere.

He had come this way before in dreams, further south where the great stone mittens reached into the sky. There, the land had risen in clarity, each formation distinct in its declaration. But now the evening had deepened, and the land changed its tongue. It spoke more slowly. With greater weight. And he listened.

The air was thin with silence. Even the wind moved differently here—more cautious, more reverent. And then the shapes came into view. Not suddenly, but as if they had always been there and were only now permitting themselves to be noticed.

Here stood Brigham’s Tomb.

On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Navajo County, Arizona. Brigham’s Tomb. On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Navajo County, Arizona. Brighams Tomb is situated six miles (9.7 km) northeast of Oljato–Monument Valley, Utah, on Navajo Nation land. It is an iconic landform of Monument Valley and can be seen from Highway 163. Precipitation runoff from this landform’s slopes drains into the San Juan River drainage basin. Topographic relief is significant as the summit rises 1,000 feet (305 meters) above the surrounding terrain in 0.25 mile (0.4 km). The mountain’s name refers to Brigham Young, the first governor of the Utah Territory. This landform’s toponym was officially adopted/revised in 1988 by the United States Board on Geographic Names after having been officially named “Saddleback” from 1964 through 1987. Some older maps will still show the Saddleback name. Geology Brighams Tomb is composed of three principal strata. The bottom layer is slope-forming Organ Rock Shale, the next stratum is cliff-forming De Chelly Sandstone, and the upper layer is Moenkopi Formation capped by Shinarump Conglomerate. The rock ranges in age from Permian at the bottom to Late Triassic at the top. The buttes and mesas of Monument Valley are the result of the Organ Rock Shale being more easily eroded than the overlaying sandstone..

It rose alone, square and solemn, its flanks pressed by the last warmth of the day. The light traced every fracture, every line of sediment like the spine of something ancient and vast. It had no vanity. Its strength was in endurance, in the simplicity of mass. The world had spun uncounted times around this throne of stone, and still it stood—unmoved, unwitnessed except by sky and the slow-growing desert at its feet.

He paused there—not because he was uncertain, but because the monument required it. Some things must be received in silence.

Their topographic relief is significant: Stagecoach rises 900 feet (274 meters) above the surrounding terrain in 0.35 mile (0.56 km), while King-on-his-Throne rises 565 feet (172 meters) in 0.2 mile (0.32 km). Each butte’s toponym has been officially adopted by the United States Board on Geographic Names—Stagecoach is named for its resemblance to a stagecoach, and King-on-his-Throne is said to resemble a monarch surveying his domain. Stagecoach’s first summit ascent was made in 1995 by John Middendorf, Carl Tobin, and Dan Langmade; King-on-his-Throne’s first was in 1967 by Fred Beckey, Marlene Dalluge, Joe Brown, and Don Liska.

To the southeast, past a stretch of ochre earth and sagebrush, rose two more forms. The King on His Throne, upright and proud, shaped as if he had emerged from the stone itself to bear witness. An artifact of erosion, also a sovereign presence—crowned in shadow and wind. There was no question of who he was. His seat was eternal, and no rider passed without first meeting his gaze.

Beside him stood The Stagecoach. Its resemblance to the name was almost too perfect, as if the form had stepped from the myth fully formed. But he knew better. It had not become a stagecoach. The coach had become it. The names were backwards, as names often are. The land had come first. All else was echo.

The giants stood together across the basin, their red-gold skin kindled in the last light. Their arrangement was no accident. One rose alone. Two more aside, bound by rhythm but not repetition. Together they formed a sequence—pause, proclamation, passage.

He walked the trail slowly, camera at his side but silent for a long while. There were things beyond framing. This was not a scene to be taken. It was a truth to be approached.

At the edge of the frame—a photograph not yet taken, but inevitable—the fence stretched taut across the scrub. Old wood. Rusted wire. Man’s line scratched against the land’s permanence. It held nothing. It said nothing. But it was there, and so he acknowledged it, as one acknowledges a child’s drawing pinned beside a mural.

Overhead, the sky was deepening into steel. But the earth still burned, even gently. The buttes and mesas were not dimmed by dusk. They only leaned inward, as if the heat of the day had carried them toward some great remembering.

He had seen many monuments in his life, but these were not monuments in the human sense. These were not built. They were born. They had no need for marble or inscription. Their gospel was in their silence, their liturgy the erosion of time itself.

He stood long, unmoving.

Not lost. Not searching. Just witnessing.

As the light slipped and the forms began to release their edges to shadow, he turned once—not away, but forward. The road still called. And the giants behind him did not diminish. They merely remained, as they always had, and always would.

Waiting.

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The Mesa Light Captured Them

A father and son journey to Eagle Mesa, experiencing its beauty and silence, reflecting on its history and significance within Navajo culture as the day fades.

MichaelStephenWills18 Comments

They came north out of Chinle with the day already leaning west and the sun fallen low into the drag of horizon dust and the road ran flat and empty past rust hills and mesquite country until, turning into the sun at Mexican Water, after a long hour, at last they pulled into Kayenta where the streets lay quiet under the heavy sun and the windows of the store fronts cast their amber light out across the sand drifting across sidewalks and the wind stirred only faintly and then was still.

They left their bags in the room and turned north again without speaking. The son drove. A man, his father, sat quiet beside him and the sun slid low through the windshield and the sky was pale and cloudless and wide beyond reckoning.

The land began to rise and the road bent and climbed and fell again and then it came into view. Not slowly. Not like a curtain rising. It was simply there.

A shape in the far desert.

Like a ship that had grounded in a sea long vanished. A sheer mesa the color of blood and ochre and fire where the last of the day spilled westward and caught the rock face and made it burn.

He told the son to pull off. They stopped the car and got out and the sound of the engine fell away, the desert made no sound at all.

The man stood in the road and turned slowly. Eagle Mesa lay before him and the land stretched off in every direction and the fenceposts ran on into silence and the sky seemed to rest upon the buttes as if tired.

There were names for these places. Old names. Navajo names that spoke of eagles roosting and trees once there and water that came and went and did not come again. The mesa they called Wide Rock. The place where spirits go. He did not know the words but he knew the feeling.

On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Navajo County, Arizona. Eagle Mesa is situated 4.5 miles (7.2 km) northeast of Oljato–Monument Valley, Utah, on Navajo Nation land. It is an iconic landform of Monument Valley and can be seen from Highway 163.Precipitation runoff from this mesa’s slopes drains to Mitchell Butte Wash and Train Rock Wash which are both part of the San Juan River drainage basin. Topographic relief is significant as the summit rises 1,100 feet (335 meters) above surrounding terrain in 0.6 mile (1 km). The nearest higher neighbor is Brighams Tomb, 2.05 miles (3.30 km) to the east. This landform’s toponym has been officially adopted by the United States Board on Geographic Names. Navajo names for the mesa are “Wide Rock”, “Where the Eagles Roost”, “Water Basket Sits”, and “Trees Hanging from Surrounding Belt” because there were once numerous trees here. In Navajo mythology, Eagle Mesa is a place where spirits of the deceased may go. Eagle Rock Spire is a 300-ft tower on the northern tip of the mesa which requires class 5.9 climbing skill to reach the summit.Navajo names for this spire which resembles a perched eagle include “Eagle Alongside Mesa”, “Big Finger is Pointed”, and Tsé Łichii Dahazkani (Elevated Red Rock Sitting Up). The first ascent of the spire was made on April 23, 1970, by Fred Beckey and Eric Bjornstad. Geology Eagle Mesa is a mesa composed of three principal strata. The bottom layer is Organ Rock Shale, the next stratum is cliff-forming De Chelly Sandstone, and the upper layer is Moenkopi Formation capped by Shinarump Conglomerate. The rock ranges in age from Permian at the bottom to Late Triassic at the top. The buttes and mesas of Monument Valley are the result of the Organ Rock Shale being more easily eroded than the overlaying sandstone.

The son came and stood beside him and did not speak. The man lifted the camera and took a photograph and then another. The road behind them shimmered with the last heat of day. He took another picture his son, dressed in black, his arms at rest and the red mesa rising behind him and the shadows of their bodies cast long across the gravel and the shoulder of the road.

On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Behind Sean are the landforms Eagle Mesa and behind it Setting Hen, Bringham’s Tomb, to the right. Navajo County, Arizona

They took turns with the camera. The son caught him midstride and smiling lit by sunlight, the land stretching out all around. A man small in a world not made for men.

There was no sound but the click of the shutter and the dry whisper of wind among the sage.

On the way to Monument Valley Tribal Park as the sunset for this view on Sullivan Road (Route 163). Behind Mike are the landforms Eagle Mesa and behind it Setting Hen, Bringham’s Tomb to the right. Navajo County, Arizona

Later he would read that the rock was born of Organ Shale and De Chelly Sandstone and Moenkopi topped with Shinarump. He would know the spire they saw was first climbed by men named Beckey and Bjornstad and that it was called Tsé Łichii Dahazkani by those who’d named it before it ever had another name. He would know the mesa rose eleven hundred feet in less than a mile and that its runoff fed washes that fed rivers that fed nothing now.

But then he only stood and watched and knew it for what it was.

Not a monument to anything but time.

A stillness like prayer. A place that waits.

They lingered until the sun went and the sky turned iron blue and the shadows of the rock reached out across the valley floor and touched them where they stood. Then they climbed back in the car and drove south again and the road unwound behind them black and a single star above and the silence of the place held on inside them long after the valley was gone.

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Discovering La Sirena de la Garza at Punta de las Salinas

At Punta del Este, Uruguay, the beauty of the ocean and sculptures creates a profound connection between nature, art, and mythology.

MichaelStephenWills24 Comments

As I stood at the edge of Punta del Este, Uruguay, I marveled at the wild beauty of the place. We were at Punta de las Salinas, the very tip of the peninsula, the edge of where the Atlantic Ocean meets the Río de la Plata. This easternmost point of Uruguay, where time feels suspended as restless waves crash against rocky shores. A sea breeze carries a distinct salty tang.

This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay

Pam, my wife, stood beside me, a bright smile on her face as the ocean wind tugged at her sunhat. Behind her, rising among the rocks, was an art installation that seemed to embody the spirit of the place “El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids). These sculptures by the artist Lily Perkins, their forms shaped and worn by the elements, appeared almost as though they were natural extensions of the rocky coastline. They gazed out to sea, their haunting beauty a poignant reminder of myth and humanity’s eternal connection with the ocean.

The sirens, crafted with an earthy texture and adorned with bits of marine debris, seemed to tell a story of resilience and adaptation. They stood stoically against the backdrop of the churning waves, their barnacle-like surfaces merging seamlessly with their rugged surroundings. I felt a strange connection to them, as if they were silent witnesses to the ever-changing dance of the sea and sky.

Pam during our 2016 South American tour. This is at Great Britain Square, Punta de las Salinas of Punta del Este. We are at the tip of the peninsula, the easternmost point of Uruguay. Over her shoulder is the art installation “El Canto de las Sirenas” (The Song of the Mermaids) (2012) by the artist Lily Perkins. Punta del Este, Departamento de Maldonado, Uruguay

The morning was perfect for photography. I adjusted my Canon camera, capturing the interplay of light and shadow across the jagged rocks, the turquoise waves, and the statues. The textures of the sirens came alive through the lens, each detail hinting at the passage of time and the endless conversations between water and stone. Pam posed in front of one of the sculptures, her presence adding a touch of humanity to the scene, as though she were part of this mythological tableau.

I took a moment to step back and absorb the scene. The coastline stretched out before me, rugged and raw, with the waves crashing in an eternal rhythm. The sirens belonged here, their forms shaped artist hands, then also by the elements. They merged into this unique place, much like the wind, the rocks, and the ocean.

As we walked along the rocky outcrop, the sound of the waves filled the air, drowning out any other noise. It was easy to lose oneself in the hypnotic patterns of the water, the spray catching the sunlight like tiny jewels. I found myself reflecting on the history of this place—Punta del Este, a meeting point of cultures and stories, a place where the natural world and human creativity converge.

Great Britain Square, where we started this journey, seemed an apt setting for such an installation. The name itself evokes a sense of exploration and connection across vast distances, much like the sirens that seem to call out across the waves. The symbolism was not lost on me as I thought about how we, too, were travelers, drawn to the edges of the earth by a desire to explore and understand.

Plaza Gran Bretana (Great Britain Square) is named for the World War II naval battle near here between the German battleship Graf Spee and the English ships Ajax, Achilles and Exeter. The plaza also has an anchor marking the boundary between Rio de la Plata and the Atlantic Ocean.

Pam and I lingered for a while longer, taking in the scenery and enjoying the peacefulness of the moment. The sculptures seemed almost alive, their forms shifting subtly as the light changed. They reminded me of the stories of sirens from ancient mythology—creatures that lured sailors to their doom with their enchanting voices. But here, they seemed more like guardians, watching over the waters and the land, their presence a testament to the enduring power of art and nature.

As the morning wore on, we made our way back, leaving the sirens behind to their eternal vigil. The experience stayed with me, though, a vivid memory of a place where myth and reality intertwine. Punta de las Salinas, with its rugged beauty and its mysterious sirens, had left an indelible mark on my heart.

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