This is a basic edit–the lucky shot itself is the best part of this photo. The double sunset is a result of Ice formation in the clouds to the right. The Sun setting to the left illuminated the ice crystals creating the illusion of a double sunset.
The role of illusion in perspective and sight is what makes a particular work of art special because of what Nature provides. I like this type of image because it feels like a cooperation between the universe and my micro-vision.
More than anything, I enjoy the surprise of nature. Even to the point of impermanence, I am delighted to live with the knowledge that all suns set in the end. Some set beautifully, as this one did.
Photo editing and the use of the digital darkroom is becoming more accepted as an aspect of photography. This abstraction was created in pen & ink and pastel. It was then imported to Topaz Labs and Studio and reworked with impression tools. It was originally a portrait with scattered objects. By using simplify to diminish some of the pixels, the above results were obtained.
It was a beautiful end of summer day. Kathy has the Canadian Canoe with a 9.9 engine on the back. We can row or paddle, or for long runs, Kathy uses the engine. The shallow brackish ponds curve around a landscape of the Atlantic on one side and the shoreline of southern Rhode Island on the other side. The image above depicts our family group raking for clams
The 1st of October brings my mind into the new season. Though we spent the afternoon in the water, it was really not warm enough for old bones to enjoy a swim. Though each of us were so adapted to New England, I am sure we might have had we known the day would turn out as warm as it did. My face browned with the passing of the day.
The southern migration of the popular tree swallow was in full swing and they were, we were told, on their way to Essex Cn where they converge to finish their way to the southern destination. In New England, we understand snow-birds differently than the popular version which is to fly, drive and even train to some parts of Florida. These birds were swirling and feeding off the pond all around us. A flock of cormorants also converging were mingling with sea-gulls as we canoe around the ponds and marshes of Ninigret. Native American influence is fading but still visible when you look.
We brought in enough shellfish to have appetizers with dinner, a simple Sunday evening supper as was the custom in Canadian families.
Autumn and aging are at my front door. At first, I had to adapt to the idea, then I realized the adaptations are transitions that require a new kind of deliberate intent. Clamming on a bright, sunny, autumn day with folks you love and trust is a great source of spiritual healing. I am talking about the kind of healing that comes from inhaling the rays of sun, merged with the aroma of the tides and the beauty of the colors the light provides.
Some days, with a bit of luck and a dose of determination, gratitude is in the air.
A border town between North Carolina & Virginia. Circa, 1728. But incorporated only after the revolution–a confederacy of a town. Large tobacco plantation gave way to manufacturing until that moved out of town too. Several centuries of rural poverty, juxtaposed with white owners.
Met Cory a boy of about 17, a waiter at a local music and food, laminated menu type of place.
Very handsome young man, with an identifiable cultural heritage that hangs on in his language. “Yes sir, no sir, right away sir.” An unnatural deference, he even bowed his head as he finished taking my cheeseburger order.
I asked him what he thought I was talking about when I said “the place had a deeply southern feeling.” He knew right away. He had been up north and said he himself noticed that there was a suspicious respect that he paid that ran deep. I remember thinking before I spoke with him that he was a “black boy” and I was an old white guy.
We made a connection. I liked him and I could tell that he liked me.
He smiled wide, brought the check and I tipped him well.
He had moved away from that town but was not sure why he had moved back.
“Do you like living here,” I asked? He made an ambivalent face and said, “I guess so.”
The art of writing and the creative images that convey thought and feeling have been a part of my mind’s eye since I can remember. Fantasy, hope, and illusion combine to create graphic narratives. Words and images convey, they are the hieroglyphics of our modern-day Calligraphy. I have evolved to become a scribe, a note taker, a disseminator of solitary perception. I write in the-good-chance that another will find his way, her own solace through describing my own neuro-pathways through evolution.
I have long felt that love or disdain occur at first sight. What ever it is that we find either beautiful or truthful, can not be dismantled easily. I see below, children at play, and colors that remind me of spring, along with a glow that permeates the air of summer.
Fantasies of love and lust are awakened by sensations of warmth and dampened by visions of coldness. The image below, (My Lake, Watchaug), draws me into a space that I can let myself belong to.
Belonging to is a step toward actualization. It is a comfortable step where we can pause for as long as we like and absorb the nearness of eternity through our understanding of nature’s cycles and nature’s own evolution.
Sunsets are a most serene way of acknowledging the inevitabilities of life which include the end of it. The final step into an eternity of forgetting everything we ever knew forever. In the meantime, Stealing Beauty is an admirable art form…
Leonard Cohen died with his
Mia culpa hanging on a breath of life not
wanting to be extinguished.
Some want it darker is about as dark as it gets while still sustaining a melody, a small rhythm gnawing from the inside to make its way out into the light for one final view, one final airing. I admire his boldness of Character. A brilliant study on Human Darkness composed of life and sung as a troubadour nearly across the entire globe. He has a message that resonates to the wonderfully misfit, the magnificently imperfect humans who manage to find each other in this every expanding chaos of mind and universe.
What a gift of himself he gave to we wandering souls that catch-up here and there, staying 6 feet behind and following an echo from the past. It is a function of my generation. We were brought up to feel appreciation because they knew it could be so much worst. It had been for them and for their parents as well. Sandwiched in between two World Wars of brutal intent and consequence they wanted us to know we had it good.
Here is a listening moment from his very beginning: Suzanne
I can say that I grew up with him. Canadian from Montreal, I had to love him for his heritage. Then the liturgy of the Cadillac Church was so interwoven with the culture that he let it become the landscape from which he picked his brilliant metaphors and symbols.
I can say that I find him to be the joy of darkness, the portal to a complete zen acceptance that allows authenticities to be vulnerable appendages rather than the hanging chads of shame and secrecies.
“from 25 or 30 sounds an infinite variety of expressions, which although not having any resemblance in themselves to that which passes through our minds, nevertheless do not fail to reveal all of the secrets of the mind, and to make intelligible to others who cannot penetrate into the mind all that we conceive and all of the diverse movements of our souls.”
The infinite variety of expressions is the endless variety of narratives that we spin in our subjective mind then merge that spin with life on earth in all of its dimensions…Language Acquisition is the divide between a chimp and a human…we still have access to that languageless region. It is the well-spring of creativity. But it is best accessed from a position of still point.
Quieting the mind, quieting the ego aspect of the mind is essential to gaining the glimpse that we need to be connected to the primitive aspects of our survival. The connection with our DNA is consciousness. It has both a linguistic shade to it and a languageless shade to it.
The languageless region is often frightening because we expect to find darkness. And then complicate what we find with a story. The moth has two possibilities, flying too close to the flame or wandering too far from the warmth.
As human animals, accessing our ancient instincts needs deliberate intent because the language part of us has so advanced that the instinct part of us recedes further and further back. This makes it difficult to find our way through the jungle of neurotransmitters to where earlier survival skills were dominant. We still need these ancient survival skills. Much of modern medicine is not trained in the use of the subjective to access illness in the body.
Principles of therapeutic yoga are in line with psychoanalytic thinking. Both systems of healing are aware of the importance of the unconscious. In psychoanalysis, the unconscious is an element of consciousness “beneath the surface”. In Yoga, the unconscious is the body. The sensations that are felt are languageless messages from the body to the mind. We can stray from our desires if we have not understood the body’s message to our consciousness.
Modern humans tend to feel these ‘sensation-messages‘ then proceed immediately to creating a narrative, a story which we tell ourselves. In analysis we spend a lot of attention on the narrative. In yoga, the time is spent on understanding the sensation not as words, but as a languageless communication.
The most attractive part of this lesson on biology and evolution is the tremendous boost that we can get from our own instinct of creativity. Here is a picture that emerged from my languageless region: