Metaphor and Analogy - **In Title or Description**
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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
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!
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.
Another Friday means another fence to climb. I like fences because they are such a metaphor.
Happy Fence Friday
At a time of a historic pandemic and racial discord/violence, major league baseball seems to reflect the times. Even as the virus may be waning, the different sides (the teams and the players) cannot agree yet on what's fair compensation for a shortened season. As a baseball fan who loves the idea of the USA...and it's the first country started as an idea if you think about it....I hope the sides can come together. Maybe the stitching's just gotten too loose and we can tighten them up a bit?
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.
“I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we's coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?”
John Coffey, “The Green Mile” by Stephen King
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.
I can’t help it, I love to snap gate or stile. Surrounded with all this beauty and rough manmade wooden construction catches my eye every time. It’s got to be physiology, but what, the mind boggles. An invitation to pastures new, a transition, a way through a life barrier. Who knows, all I know, next time my travels encounters one, more often or not I’ll get the camera out. I wouldn’t care after slogging up to this one I didn’t pass through it, something told me to stay on this side of the wall, may be that’s the metaphor I should ponder.
Excerpt from the plaque:
Challenger by Brandon Vickerd: Challenger consists of a replica of the escape hatch from the NASA space shuttle Challenger installed as if it has fallen from the sky and crashed into a Canada Post mailbox. The sculpture is a metaphor for the failed promise of a future of scientific advancement that was once heralded by modernism.
The garden is a metaphor for life, and gardening is a symbol of the spiritual path. Larry Dossey
~happy fence friday~
I'm very fortunate to live in a rural area with easy access to woodlands, meadows, streams, ridge lines, valleys, and crop fields. I derive a great deal of energy and mental stimulation by entering into these spaces. I used to think it was the result of the oxygen released by plants. But it's much more than that. The visuals are quite often stunning, and motivate my creative mind. However I feel the same energy even if I take no photos at all. For me it's all about being immersed into scenes such as this, both literally and emotionally.
Walking through this meadow filled with dead and withered leaves filled me with a sense of life and vitality. Don't ask me to explain the dichotomy. It just is. There's simply as much (or even more) energy here now as there was months ago when this was all lush and green.
For years this old house was obscured with all manner of junked vehicles and junk in general. You could see the roofline but not much else. Normally in these situations, things improve once the junk is hauled off. Not in this case. If anything the cleanup only served to reveal the true malevolence of the place. I photographed the house a few months ago on a bright winter day. Even in that cheerful light it made me uneasy. Feelings like this are not always relatable. It's partly based on the visual. But more so on the visceral. In this case sort of a blend between crime scene and haunted house. Perhaps even one leading to the other. I had forgotten all about the house until I happened by here yesterday on a cold and gloomy day. Wonderful synchronicity in the timing. Not just the weather, but also my itchiness to create. It's not unlike how prosecutors attempt to prove guilt in criminal case: establishing motive, means and opportunity. In this analogy, I can take photos under any one of those conditions, but it's pure magic when all three coincide. And how fitting a metaphor in this case, a shadowy old house and soon-to-be vacant lot. I wonder if buried bodies will be discovered when the house is razed.
“The garden is one of the two great metaphors for humanity.
The garden is about life and beauty and the impermanence of all living things.
The garden is about feeding your children, providing food for the tribe.
It’s part of an urgent territorial drive that we can probably trace back to animals storing food.
It’s a competitive display mechanism, like having a prize bull, this greed for the best tomatoes and English tea roses.
It’s about winning; about providing society with superior things; and about proving that you have taste, and good values, and you work hard.
And what a wonderful relief, every so often, to know who the enemy is.
Because in the garden, the enemy is everything: the aphids, the weather, time.
And so you pour yourself into it, care so much, and see up close so much birth, and growth, and beauty, and danger, and triumph.
And then everything dies anyway, right?
But you just keep doing it.”
― Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
In her day-to-day, ahead seems gray, but with her reflexive gaze, creativity comes to life.
I'm just trying my hand at some fine arts photography. Mosquitoes bit me 27 times while taking this picture. She was bit 12 times before we realized that we were being eaten alive. So much anti-itch spray!
These two halves / taken together / are at greater distance / from one another / than if left apart.
Assemblage, wood, metal, paper, paint, size (WxHxD) 50x48x11 cm (based upon objets trouvés) (2015)
jmsdbg.com/estambul/index.html
La noche dota a la Mezquita Azul de una magia especial que todavía realza más su belleza. Me senté en un banco y planté el trípode con la cámara, cuando aún era de día —por supuesto, después de tomar un té—, dispuesto a ver cómo lentamente el cielo y los muros de la mezquita comenzaban a cambiar, mientras disfrutaba con las fotos que iba sacando. El sol se retiraba sin prisa, y los colores se transformaban con una delicadeza hipnótica. Poco a poco, empezaron a insinuarse suaves tonos dorados en los minaretes, al ir encendiéndose los focos que preparaban la escena.
Un rato después, el edificio entero resplandecía como un dibujo de luz dorada, recortado con nitidez sobre el cielo azul violáceo del anochecer.
De repente, algo cambió. Los focos dorados se apagaron sin aviso y fueron sustituidos por otros blancos, fríos, casi quirúrgicos. La mezquita se volvió entonces algo distinto: una visión extraña, fantasmal, como si flotara en una dimensión paralela.
No lo dudé un segundo y apreté rápido el disparador. Duró muy poco. Apenas unos segundos. Por suerte, algo más que los 30 segundos que duró la exposición de esta foto. Lo suficiente para atraparla, aunque fuera una sola vez.
Pensé entonces que quizá todo fuese una metáfora de esta ciudad que respira entre dos luces.
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At night, the Blue Mosque takes on a special kind of magic that enhances its beauty even more. I sat on a bench and set up the tripod with my camera — it was still daylight, of course, and only after having a tea — ready to watch as the sky and the mosque's walls slowly began to change. I enjoyed every shot I took while the light shifted gently around me. The sun withdrew slowly, and the colors transformed with hypnotic delicacy. Bit by bit, soft golden tones began to appear on the minarets, as the lights that set the scene started to come on.
A little while later, the entire building shone like a sketch drawn in golden light, sharply outlined against the violet-blue sky of dusk.
Then suddenly, something changed. The golden lights went off without warning, replaced by others — white, cold, almost surgical. The mosque became something else entirely: a strange, ghostly vision, as if it were floating in a parallel dimension.
I didn’t hesitate — I pressed the shutter quickly. It lasted only a few seconds. Fortunately, just a bit longer than the 30 seconds the photo exposure required. Long enough to capture it, just once.
And I thought, maybe it was all a metaphor — of a city that breathes between two lights.