adventurer, traveler, and designer at heart, jay roop is on a mission to experience the most that earth has to offer and bring others on board for the time of their lives. currently residing in seoul, korea where he runs operations for his design studio, and previously living in gothenburg, sweden and san francisco, california, he is ready to share documentation of his life and work with all those who are interested.
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we say it, be we may rarely have a chance to experience it; the land of the midnight sun.
but today, i have the fortune of being in a place where i can watch the sunrise before my very eyes at 1:30am in the morning. in fact, it’s more like a ‘sun warm’ than a sunrise, as the pinkish glow never fell below the horizon towards the east. the site is quite beautiful, and as i wait for my time lapse photos to finish up (hopefully quite soon, as i’m super freezing) i thought i’d share this moment with you.
what is actually quite logical, can often seem a bit mind boggling. i know in my head that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. however, being able to pan the sky and go from a deep resonant blue to a pink to turquoise gradient can leave one a bit dumbfounded at first.
my vantage point is from the top of a hill, next to masthuggskyrkan. it’s not the highest point in göteborg, but i have a wonderful view over the city’s harbor. off in the distance i can see the neon blue glow of the new ‘wheel of gothenburg’, and subtle silhouette of the lipstick building against a dark horizon. the reflection of the buildings in the river (göta alv) is surrounded by the greenish blue tinge of the sky above and the warm street lights almost match the sunrise in color.
when i first arrived here about an hour ago, i was all by myself. since then, a pair of gentleman have taken a seat with cameras and beers in hand just to my right. there is the occasional chatter of birds in the early morning, and every now and then i catch a glimpse of them flying speedily around the trees. in the background there is the constant chatter of seagulls protecting their young – it’s a sound that i’ve become quite accustomed to here, even if i do tend to find it quite annoying. and of course, the less pleasing, but somehow reassuring sounds of cars rumbling up and down the highways all around.
now, 10 minutes after i’ve started to write this post the sky is coming to life. i can describe it as the glow of a slow burning ember unexpectedly reigniting. i clearly see five distinct bands of color: first pink, then yellow, aqua, blue, and the deepness of space above. there are several cloud formations, one coming in from the sea and another more streaky group off to the northeast, bumping up against the invisible ceiling of pressure and flattening out.
the reason i chose to come up to this cold hill in the middle of the night, even after working quite late, is simply because i may never have this opportunity again. i feel like there is something religious, or maybe spiritual is a better term, about being awake and alert to experience the darkest hours of the lightest day of the year. it’s something i’d like to share with those who aren’t here to see it for themselves.