Metaphor and Analogy - **In Title or Description**
View allAll Photos Tagged Metaphors
signalling a new direction
For some time now I've struggled to keep up with flickr...
I try to think of ways to be generous and reciprocal
and also meet my own needs to be more playful...
to have more time and energy for making images
and also for making lucid comments ;-)
For now I'm going to try being more flexible...
embrace a little more imperfection :-)
I'll still respond to comments
(this connection brings me happiness )
and I'll enjoy visiting those who leave them :-)
But I'll be more free about timing...
and not respond to every fave.
Tho I'll try to recognise loyal and wordless fave givers
I am, after all, often one myself.
Not an easy change to make.
But something has to give.
So here's to generosity and freedom.
Meet you
at the intersection ;-)
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 ~
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If you like you can follow me on facebook
© 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.
Je n'avais jamais observé matériellement la similitude morphologique qui existe entre l'arbre et notre appareil respiratoire. Les campagnes de lutte, contre la déforestation notamment, m'avaient certes bien sensibilisé à la symbolique de la forêt métaphoriquement qualifiée de "poumon de la Terre"...
En retravaillant cette photo, j'ai été frappé par le fait que nous disposons à l'intérieur de notre cage thoracique d'une structure très similaire : on distingue nettement la trachée et le complexe des ramifications ici projetées à l'air libre.
La coloration tabac rajoutait une piste à ma réflexion.
En revanche, j'ai éprouvé dans un premier temps une certaine perplexité face aux versants en V de la vallée de l'Avance, qui contribuaient à donner à l'ensemble une involontaire connotation érotique : un arbre pénétrant l'entrejambe largement ouvert, chaudement marqué.
En définitive, après avoir envisagé de recadrer la photo, je me suis dit aussi qu'elle pouvait suggérer l'idée d'un espoir qui renaîtrait dans une prise de conscience collective bien réelle encore que trop peu impliquée souvent...
I admit to having some anxiety about the US elections. There’s a lot at stake, and many people have lost confidence in the process.
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?
Bit of a metaphor for the week - taking it slow and easy, enjoying the April Spring weather, plenty of walks, and a bit of photography too :-)
“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.
Other 'hints' of red in other photos are in the first comment box.
- Prince Rupert, British Columbia, Canada -
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.
I was nominated , the world through my eyes, how I see it?
FIVE.
Hold me, embrace me, cocoon me...
One of my persona;l favourites, stark, bold.
magdaindigo.blogspot.com/2009/04/metaphor-of-life-of-knot...;
thanx for your time and comments, M, (*_*)
For more of my other work or if you want to purchase, visit here: www.indigo2photography.com
IT IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN (BY LAW!!!) TO USE ANY OF MY image or TEXT on websites, blogs or any other media without my explicit permission. © All rights reserved
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.
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)
I'm fascinated by the many ways the growing season reverses course. Bit by bit, every bit of plant life that emerged and thrived in spring and summer now must die. Some go out in a blaze of vibrant color. Others die a sickly death, punctuated by black spots, discoloration, and a slow shrivel. I love the in-between phase...clinging grimly to life in the face of the inevitable. And even after the cold death of the killing frost, some tenacious plants manage to hang on. Sometimes frozen in an upright state, looking outwardly as if still alive although all life function has ceased. I've got sunflowers out in my garage, dead for years now, but still locked in their life pose. Not sure why I save things like this, but I do enjoy looking at them and appreciate the life-death association they bring to mind whenever I see them. I love shooting bright autumn hues, but more often the most satisfying moments involve the times before and after peak color. And particularly when there is some sort of context or juxtaposition for the transition. I found it here in an old cemetery; quite literally just stumbled upon this miniature scene. A vine had crept up the side of a funerary sculpture over the summer. One shriveled leaf served as a blindfold for the angel. An amazing metaphor for life and death.
Made a random turn onto a nearby county road the other day, one I have driven numerous times over the years. Only difference this time was I just happened to be traveling opposite my normal direction. Halfway up a hill I came upon this stunning scene. At first I wondered how I could have missed it after so many passages. After stopping to check it out, I soon noticed that it was all but invisible for a westbound motorist (my normal direction of travel on this road). The dramatic sightline only opened up in the eastbound lane.
Thought this was a wonderful metaphor for life. I tend adopt a singular view of things over time. This happens all the time in driving. I often see things as I expect to find them rather than how they truly appear. The human brain has a remarkable tendency to connect the dots in this way. Driving the road in the reverse direction forced my brain to reset and see the landscape from a new perspective.
Back in the moment, the dead tree was the personification of pure evil. It loomed over the old barn as if guarding it. Tons of weight, precariously balanced, and capable of dropping black shards of dead wood without notice, ready to impale the unsuspecting. Even the comforting softness of early spring could not ameliorate this scene.
The mountain knocked against my bones
And I invited it to take over
A vast visitor
Making space inside me and tearing my terrain apart
There is no gall left nor a spleen
Useless body things
I traded my limbs for valleys and slopes
A fortress of trees to guard me
And snow capped peaks that cause
The people below to gaze in a cerebral wonder
Shiver and exclaim
“I bet it’s freezing up there!"
You cannot transform me anymore
One day you reminded me that the cells in one’s body
Change over completely every 7 years.
Now, it will be 700
I might even get angry and erupt
Emerge like if Joan of Arc was a landscape
And everyone I know will be dead.
**All photos are copyrighted**
“Under innocent lights
amid corals and the sea
a place masquerades
as eternity.”
Ofu is an island. Ofu hides faraway in Oceania in the south Pacific, fourteen degrees and a few minutes from the equator. Being just east of the international date line, she is also one of the last few places on the clock to host a human day. Surrounded by the endless Pacific, Ofu herself is eternal. ‘Drawn from the sea’ at the beginning of time, the volcanic islands of Ofu and her cousin islands of Manu'a (her twin Olosega, and nearby Ta'u) are considered the origin of the entire Polynesian culture. Today, Ofu hosts 150 odd human beings, many fruiting and flowering trees, and an unit of the National Park of American Samoa. Reaching Ofu is restrictive and a protracted process, which is to be undertaken only by genuine lunatics. To the vain, Ofu is a humid island in the middle of nowhere. To the crazy, she is a rune.
’Ofu’ means clothed;
Could as well mean a poem.
She rhymes and flows
Just about the same.
Ofu is an island. Ofu is also a poem. Whoever created Ofu, did so diligently using several poetic strategies including imagery, rhythm, meters, and metaphors. Ofu is best friends with “Moana” (ocean), the mighty Pacific. She’s therefore swept by pacific winds and waves and is often indulged by afternoon showers and rainbows. Her skies are dotted with cumulus clouds and flying foxes (bats) that take turn to punctuate colors of her Polynesian mind. She wears ––like a necklace–– a shallow-water turquoise coral reef that beams with exotic life forms. At night, she looks up at the Southern Cross in the sky to orient her dreams. The moon always returns, some people do too, but her lost dreams don’t. Next morning, the dawn comes nonetheless.
“Deaf night’s darkness
retreats in grace,
When the east glows
and the poem is a place.”