photography

fading vision II

It is an in between time — stepping through the doorway that separates sleep and wakefulness — when one has a sense of self shifting betwixt roles. The observer of and actor within a movie which randomly muses through moments past or re-creates imagined eras. 

abstract street photography

The awareness of self as an observer and/or director, speaks to me of an inner knowing of something that is vague, immense, and has a Will separate from the unconscious actor “me.”  Let us name this in-between time, Chaos.

Chaos manifested in the beginning.  Within her void, time slumbered in undifferentiated fusion with all the elements, potentials, and seeds of sentience.  Yet, some say that Chaos was born from Mist and that Mist was the first to exist.  

Mist is symbolic of things indeterminate, or the fusing together of the elements of air and water, and the inevitable absorbing of the outlines of each aspect and each particular phase of the evolution process.  

lens-artists photo challenge: favorite photos of 2019

2019 in review…

As I was reviewing 2019 images within the WP media library, I notice these two images side-by-side. While not my favorite images, together they create a unique perspective and invite contemplation.

transforming

As 2020 unfolds, present moment by present moment, may you and all your loved ones awaken to life’s mysteries and know joy.

Images submitted for Patti’s lens-photo challenge – favorite photos of 2019.

a lone

on a tree standing

by the cliff in an old farm

a dove –

how lonely his voice

calling for a friend this evening

~ Saigyō (cited: Makoto Ueda, Far Beyond the Field)

“Of course you must know that every letter of yours will always give me pleasure, and only beat with the answer which will perhaps often leave you empty handed; for at bottom, and just in the deepest and most important things, we are unutterably alone…” Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet.

winter’s eve

“…seek those which your own everyday life offers you, describe your sorrows and desires, passing thoughts and the belief in some sort of beauty–describe all these with loving, quiet, humble sincerity, and use, to express yourself, the things in your environment, the images from your dreams, and the objects of your memory. If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it: blame yourself, tell yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches, for to the creator there is no poverty, and no poor indifferent place.”

cited: Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet – pp 16-17 (trans: M D Herter Norton)

I’ve been rather absent for a time as I was captured by a creative need to compile some images and writings into a photo book. I invite you to preview, Unseeded, a photo book inspired by two amazing women.

May you have a wondrous Winter’s Eve.

rainer maria rilke

north shields pond

“…all critical intention is too far from me. With nothing can one approach a work of art so little as with critical words: they always come down to more or less happy misunderstandings. Things are not all so comprehensible and expressible as one would mostly have us believe, most events are inexpressible, taking place in a realm which no word has ever entered, and more inexpressible than all else are works of art, mysterious existences, the life of which, while ours passes away, endures.”

cited: Rainer Maria Rilke Letters to a Young Poet (Trans: M D Herter Norton)

much to long…

Ricoh f/12 10.5mm 800 ISO

“At night, as I lay in the camp on my plank bed, surrounded by women and girls gently snoring, dreaming aloud, quietly sobbing and tossing and turning, women and girls who often told me during the day, ‘We don’t want to think, we don’t want to feel, otherwise we are sure to go out of our minds,’ I was sometimes filled with an infinite tenderness, and lay awake for hours letting all the many, too many impressions of a much too long day wash over me, and I prayed, ‘Let me be the thinking heart of these barracks.’ And that is what I want to be again. The thinking heart of a whole concentration camp. I lie here so patiently and now so calmly again, that I feel quite a bit better already. I feel my strength returning to me; I have stopped making plans and worrying about risks. Happen what may, it is bound to be for the good.

cited: E Hillesum, An Interrupted Life. p.191 Trans: A Pomerans)