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Weekly Photo Challenge: Focus

Focus.  Concentrate.  What is important?  Who decides?  And what about the other stuff?  Again, photography acts as a metaphor for life.  How do you get the experience of your own powers of creation?  Make decisions, make art, and you know that you are making a universe.  Then, unmake it, and you’ll know what you can control and change.

Is the glass half empty?  Half full?  Is the glass solid or as liquid as its contents but moving at a different speed?  Am I half done with my life or beginning a new day?  Are the things that exist only in my memory real or not?  If they exist in my memory, have I lost them? 

I had a birthday on Wednesday, and a good cry on Thursday.  The quiet, summer afternoon transported me to another time and place.  My husband was alive, snoring in the Lazy Boy in my living room.  I had a living room – a full house with 4 bedrooms.  My oldest daughter was in her room, reading children’s books.  My son was in the yard playing with a next door neighbor.  My two youngest daughters were entwined on a bed, thumbs in their mouths, damp curls encircling their sleepy heads.  It seemed so palpable…and so untouchable.  Never again; though, yes, it was.  Once.  LOSS loomed in my brain.  A word I envisioned; I’d conjured it like the scene of that composite day.  When I focused on it, I was awash in gut pain.  It was powerful.  Over moments, the focus softened.  Its power faded.  It became a muted background of warmth, of subtle longing, a wistful smile.  There are other things in my life.  Some embryonic, some ripening.  That previous life is like the green light of a summer day.  It is there, all around.  It is not in focus, though.  It is enough.

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Wordless Wednesday: Landscape Portraits

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Comments allowed and appreciated! (I’m still working on the “One Shot: Two Ways” idea.  I think I need to take the vertical shot from a lower angle and get something different in the foreground…”

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Fresh

I so wish I had a photo of someone doing something cheeky, but as I’ve admitted before, I tend to have still life and landscape photos and not much photojournalism-type shots with people in action.  “Fresh! *slap*” is the first thing that came to my mind.  The second is my daughter’s quizzical expression, “What fresh hell is this?” (Which my mother reminds me is Dorothy Parker’s line; Susan lifted it from The Portable Curmudgeon.) Again, a dramatic scene to be pictured.  Ah, well.  Perhaps more boring, but nonetheless colorful, is this collection of purchases from a fall Farmer’s Market.  Enjoy! 

Fresh

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Curves

Curves…

How many internet “news” headlines associate that word with female celebrities on the red carpet?  SOOOooo not my style of subject.

The curve ball?  The cosmic 2 by 4 upside the head?  Ah, yes.  That experience is one with which I am familiar.  I appreciate a good twist of fate/destiny/plot/philosophy.  I’ve been reading a 1917 copy of Best Russian Short Stories compiled by Thomas Seltzer.  Intense!  Revolutionary!  Profound!  I recommend The Shades, A Phantasy by Korolenko:  Socrates investigating the justice of religion, and for lighter fare, How a Muzhik Fed Two Officials by Saltykov: like Mark Twain satire, only Russian.

Visually, curves are naturally graceful.  Is there anything in nature that is completely straight?  I’ve thought about that several times, and the closest thing I can come up with is a pine needle.  Any other ideas out there?

So, here are some curves from my photo files:

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Fleeting

I must be sharing some head space with Cheri at Word Press.  I’ve been thinking about ephemerals as I photographed the woodland wildflowers a few weeks ago.  An entire hillside was covered in trout lily, and I was excited at the prospect of seeing them all bloom at once.  I went back two weeks later to discover that I’d missed it. 

Fleeting.  Short life cycles.  Tomorrow is the 35th anniversary of the first time I kissed my husband.  He died at the age of 47.  “It’s not the years in your life, but the life in your years that counts.”  That quote is attributed to Abraham Lincoln, and my sister-in-law read it at Jim’s memorial.  Living, sentient beings change over time, rapidly or slowly doesn’t matter.  We are all impermanent.  Is that an aberration?  Or is that just the way it is?  Rage or accept as you will, the wheel turns, the cycle moves.

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