High Metaphoric Contrast
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"Alle ist Umgeformt" - German: "All is transformed".
The third and final image in the TotenTanz series that uses images from a cemetery to question the absoluteness of death.
In this case the "pano-sabotage" is used to both de-construct, and show in "RE-construction", funerary monuments in an historical graveyard.
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© Richard S Warner ( Visionheart ) - 2015, 2016. All Rights Reserved. This image is not for use in any form without explicit, express, written permission.
Like a vampire you didn't invite
Suddenly, a change stifles the air
Sucking away all your blood and energy
Whispering in your ear
"You aren't going to survive this one, dear"
Filling you with unabated darkness
Which is really strange because
Just two days ago
You were feeling so much better.
**All photos are copyrighted**
Forth Road Bridge 13 Dec 2015
The FRB is shrouded in all kinds of things - fog, political smokescreens, uncertainty, to name but a few.
Hopefully the bridge really will open again on 04 January 2016. I feel most sorry for the cancer patients having to travel miles extra for daily treatment in Edinburgh.
Please see my other photos of Edinburgh & the Lothians at www.jamespdeans.co.uk/p399603778
No one remembered to put in their original teeth
at the plant nursing home
so they can’t tell the nurses and aides
to turn off Fox news
and they wither like they’ve been
left for an eternity to suffer
for all their long lost sins.
**All poems and photos are copyrighted**
~ The sky is often used as a metaphor
And I suppose that's because it's so big and expansive
When a long strand of cloud sits just above the horizon
Leaving a strip of clear blue beneath it
It becomes the panorama
It'll turn your head three hundred and sixty degrees,
And the same line follows you round if the land is sufficiently flat
Really, nothing can be compared to it
I am not an acrobat…
I cannot perform these tricks for you
Losing all my balance…
Falling from a wire meant for you ~
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© Copyright by Floriana Thor 2013-2015
We can express our feelings regarding the world around us either by poetic or by descriptive means. I prefer to express myself metaphorically. Let me stress: metaphorically, not symbolically. A symbol contains within itself a definite meaning, certain intellectual formula, while metaphor is an image. An image possessing the same distinguishing features as the world it represents. An image — as opposed to a symbol — is indefinite in meaning. One cannot speak of the infinite world by applying tools that are definite and finite. We can analyse the formula that constitutes a symbol, while metaphor is a being-within-itself, it's a monomial. It falls apart at any attempt of touching it.
― Andrei Tarkovsky
Here's the second in the pair of "fence notes" I took last weekend at the Delaware shore. I was thinking they looked like quarter notes, with the shadows as musical bars. Yes, yes, that might be pushing the musical metaphor a little far ... but why not?
A child’s toy and an old bench....childhood and old age.... A visual metaphor? Or maybe just a little boy who got called to lunch and left his trike on the sidewalk!
When I think of Istanbul,
Yahya Kemal used to come to mind
Now Orhan Veli comes to mind
You've been on the tip of my tongue for a while now, Orhan Veli
Your taste, your salt,
Your poetry, your face
Like a wounded dove
It circles above my head
It comes and silently lands somewhere in this poem
Where? Those who seek will find
Those who know, know
This city drives people crazy
May your glasses clink, Orhan Veli
Unless there is the iPhone icon, all photos were taken with a Nikon or more recently, with a Sony Mirrorless. I ioften import the images to a 12.9 inch iPad for editing.
Walking in fog often provides a visual representation of my thought process. My brain constantly brings different topics into view, but in the process lets others slide into the periphery. Most of the time they are all still there, competing for my attention, but all in varying degrees. In fog I respond to the overall loss of clarity, but also the nuance that is created by relative distance. It's this layering effect I find most appealing as more distant objects eventually recede into nothingness...exactly the same as my mind reacts.
Walking outdoors this morning felt otherworldly. I love seeing familiar places rendered as ones I'm visiting for the very first time. A rich dichotomy as the serenity of fog is ripped apart by this visceral reaction. In these moments I invariably come up with camera angles that never would have occurred to me in normal circumstances.
Le souvenir est une voix brisée,
On l’entend mal, même si on se penche.
Et pourtant on écoute, et si longtemps
Que parfois la vie passe. Et que la mort
Déjà dit non à toute métaphore.
Yves Bonnefoy
"Tomas did not realize at the time that metaphors are dangerous."
Skin: Tomas by Stray Dog at Man Cave
Weather is a great metaphor for life — sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s bad, and there’s nothing much you can do about it but carry an umbrella or choose to dance in the rain!
~Terri Guillemets
That's definitely the question....
It's kind of a metaphor for our globe, with all the crazy things humans do to each other and to the globe.
I for one, hope it's melting 🙏
💝❤💝
The once verdant cornfields around here, the few that remain anyway, have withered into parched leaves and bone-dry stalks. They emanate eerie rustling sounds in response to even the slightest breeze. This is my favorite time of the growing season, even though it's the end phase. The visuals are simultaneously creepy and amazing. Yet I feel an odd sense of anxiety every time I hear a harvesting combine rumbling past the house. I always wonder if they are heading to one of the cornfields that I photograph. I have this completely unhinged sense of ownership for the fields I visit. The same feelings often develop around abandoned houses that I explore. For me it's a recurrent storyline that never ends well. Sooner or later I return to find only emptiness. The harvest is now over, but the emotion and even terror that played out here for me these past months lingers.
'No!' cried Sam! 'My picture gives a better overview of Spring!' 'But mine', exclaimed Olymp, 'is a metaphor for industry and diligence with that pollen collecting Dronefly. It's a more fitting tribute to the well-known patron of landowners and manufacture of this area, the Van Sonsbeek family for whom this park is named.'
So their Master put both pictures together: the Weeping Willow in commemoration of a Anna van Sonsbeek, one of many so-named daughters of the family in the seventeenth and eighteenth century. It is said the park is called after one of them. And then in the inset there's Dronefly on a hybrid, double Daffoldil; they're now scattered throughout the park. I was surprised to see our insect out because it was only 7C.
I love finding conflict in the scenes I photograph. A sort of mismatch between visual elements that adds visual interest. Oftentimes it's all in my head. But even then it helps set the creative tone. The through line in my recent winter photos is the visualization of fallen snow as a substance full of depth and shadow, the complete opposite of the eye's perception. Nothing underscores that theme as much as this woodland scene. Brilliant backlight of the morning sun highlights new fallen snow perched on the branches as well as flakes in midair. It seemed as if so much as a sneeze would knock everything out of kilter. I found my conflict in the maze of vein-like shadows, cast by even the thinest branches. The brilliant light played magically against the shadowy foreground...bright white snow rendered in the darkest tones.
Por favor, no use esta imagen en los sitios web, blogs u otros medios de comunicación sin mi permiso explícito - Todos los derechos reservados ©. Please don't use this image on websites, blogs or other media without my explicit permission - All Rights Reserved ©
A clump of wild timothy sways languidly along a rural road in the moments before an ominous thunderstorm storm strikes. I’m always in search of borders and boundaries when out with the camera. I love photographing them, and even more standing astride them. This is one of my many odd behavioral traits that defy rational explanation. As a result, attempts to discuss them often sound irrational (if not downright ridiculous). With that risk in mind, I’ll just say I think at some level, boundary lines represent unseen (yet highly palpable) energy fields. That includes boundaries both real and liminal. It relates to creating photos based upon a reaction to how scenes or situations make me feel.
Back in the moment on the old farm road, I’m already pretty charged up about the storm. It’s what brought me to this spot in the first place. And for my money, it’s one of the best visual and emotional boundaries imaginable, standing right along the leading edge of an intense storm. And on the edge of an expansive farm field which creates a visual effect of multiple boundaries within a single frame. In this case newly mown hay casting a wonderfully warm color contrast against the cool, dark sky. And as I walk along, I stumble upon the timothy grass. The stalks look delicate and tranquil as they gently sway in response to the breeze. Their presence made even more prominent by the raging storm looming in the background. It’s one of those scenes that exists only in this moment, and I could think of no better way to illustrate the fury of the storm than to focus on the calm in its path.
Location: Blade Runner Sim
(SNM) Sadly No More
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moon, you
-Gregory Richard Barden-
you ...
are my moon
(whisper me, coolly)
wan and pale as porcelain
milky moll - `china doll ...
dancing the sky like a Ginza geisha
stars tickling your toes
prettily petulant, and perfectly ...
imperfect
my moon ...
(whisper me, wondrous)
warm ... lemon drop on my tongue
teasing me to your fire
feral fool ...
I, the unwary prey - the Mandarin moth
charmed by your glisten
listen - do my wings flutter ...
or my heart?
moon ...
(whisper my name)
round and radiant - red as a cranberry
tart, sweet, luscious-lipped
dipped fruit, forbidden ...
peek-a-boo clouds of mixing emotions
stormy weather sighs
soft flesh pressed to softer ...
your kiss
my moon ...
(whispering madness)
beryl blue sadness and distant as dreams
obscured by brume and illusion
erotic suffusion ...
you pull on my blood like tidal bore
gibbous or gone
your glow is my utter apogee ...
affectation, pure
you ...
are my moon
(whisper your wishes)
I am magic, bathed in your pearly enchantments
face turned, or commanding my heavens
you are ever true ...
hues and moods in multitudes
all meant to melt me
to drip like honeyed passion ...
when you ...
whisper.
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Dance until you are dizzy
Forget about your body
It hurts to grow but not today
No one gets to pull your hair
No one gets to call you names.
Here, in this world of moving color.
You are safe.
Now, move towards the center
You can feel your body buzzing
There is just this,
This twirling round and round
Maybe when you come out of this
You will be a shape
Or you’ll have slipped into another dimension.
Maybe you won’t be human at all.
We are all many selves
in a state of flux
If you don’t like this one,
Spin around until you get to one you like better.
**All photos and poems are copyrighted**
2/12 Literary Devices/Techniques - Metaphor
Collective 52 Photo Project.
To make the journey try this - transport provided on the label.
Metaphor from: www.wineanorak.com/journey.htm