View allAll Photos Tagged Metaphors
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)
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.
Poor Eunice died in hope. A noble way to be remembered, even if not fully accurate. Guess it depends on what you were hoping for at the time you passed. The cynical side of me wonders if her hope was not to die. Eunice's legacy boils down to the few words carved into the old gravestone. They endure today only through great luck that the stone has not been toppled or shattered. I feel weirdly connected to Eunice at some level. We lived in the same village, although over a century apart. Perhaps she walked her in her day as I do in mine.
Eunice's grave is part of the rich mosaic of this cemetery. I see her name on nearly every visit here. This stone is a constant, but my reaction varies. Sometimes I notice it more than others. Depends on my mindset, the time of day, or the time of year. Sometimes even the direction I am walking or my angle of view influences my thought process. On this foggy morning I was struck by the starkness of the stone amid a damp and misty landscape. The residual leaves of October slowly decomposing in the gaining light of February. Another year passed, and Eunice's dying hope fades ever so slightly.
For those who reveal the system.
with focus on apple's 'new' 13milliards (us: billions) tax due... what is a probable cause of:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luxembourg_Leaks
^^you shouldn't use apple products/don't support any of this
parasitic multinationals.
Timmendorfer Strand, Germany, 2020
Raising a red flag is a metaphor indicating imminent danger. Human nature obviously loves overdoing things :-)
Autumn fills me with a sense of conclusion. The death of summer marks the end of another year much more profoundly than watching a ball drop on New Year's Eve. The spectacular autumnal hues are simultaneously wonderful and sad. I marvel in their splendor but am saddened to watch them slip away with each passing day. These are things I've always felt at some level. It just seems more intense in recent years as I grow older, and perhaps become more sensitive to such things. Maybe attuned is a better word. My senses are much keener (at times anyway). I notice things I once missed. I appreciate things I once tossed over. Autumn in the cemetery brings on stunning visual metaphors for the passage of life. Generations have passed since this stone was set. Many decades worth of autumn leaves have erupted here, only to be swept away by the cold winds of December. The stone is weathered and the inscription faded. It's got perhaps a few years to go before it topples and cracks. The lifecycle grinds on.
This transcendent moment of morning perfection was gifted to me by Lake Tahoe on my last day this past visit. Please do view this one Large on Black.
The older generation thought nothing of getting up at five every morning - and the younger generation doesn't think much of it either.
~John J. Welsh
Image Notes: This image is a blend of an hdr made from 5 frames 1 EV apart (tone-mapped in Dynamic-Photo HDR) layered over the second darkest exposure of those five with a slight bit of vignetting applied along the way. Also, the just rising sun was positioned directly behind the small structure to create a bloom effect and add to the vignette.
It's a grand old metaphor.
The tree is old and straggly.
I'm old and straggly.
The tree has lost it's foliage.
I've lost my foliage.
The tree is standing alone in the middle of nowhere.
I'm standing alone in the middle of nowhere.
The tree has a big branch pointing skyward.
I have.........
And so the poor metaphor endeth.
This is directly opposite the Frolicking Field, just outside The Middle of Nowhere, South Australia, Australia.
Sorry I haven't been round to visit everyone. I'm slowly getting there.
Best viewed large: www.flickr.com/photos/davidh3160/3406154937/sizes/l/
A dystopian view of the future? A critical commentary on the nature of large cities? A metaphor for the cogitating mind itself? Or, perhaps a suggestion of a coming out of darkness via the quantum world view. Any or all of the above ...
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Music Link: "Tales of the Future", Vangelis - from the "Blade Runner" soundtrack ( Vangelis ). Featuring the eery, otherworldly voice of Demis Roussos, former bandmate of Vangelis when he was with the Greek experimental group Aphrodite's Child. There's something almost Qawali about Roussos's singing here, reminding one of Nusrat Fateh Ali Kkan, but put into the context of the darkness of the film and as an adjunct to this image here it takes on a creepy, almost hair-raising quality.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CaDdbBNgahI
View Large on Black.
media-sl.com/2020/07/23/metaphor-jessica-new/
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For me the visual height of a storm precedes its arrival. It's often heralded by a slight diminution of sunlight. Not the momentary kind caused by a passing cloud. It's more of a change of tone or atmosphere. It's the kind of thing you feel as much as see with your eyes. Many a time it's that subtle shift of light that has caused me to stop whatever I'm doing and contemplate the sky. It's one of those things of which that I will never tire. The progression of sky from calm to anger. So often the most menacing clouds roll in well in advance of the actual storm. And this liminal space is generally not a solid mass, but highly textured and broken. Thick clouds intermix with thin ones, and at time even clear sky emerges. Light changes constantly from dark shadow to diffuse glow and even moments of direct sunlight. Dramatic backlighting flares up and just as suddenly vanishes. It's these continual variations that thrill me. And being able to convey the storm as an entity rather than just a monolith of darkness. Shooting in these conditions tends to be even more spontaneous than usual. This figurine of the Virgin Mary struck me as more emotive than I'd seen it before. Everything is a matter or perception, and that's a view that changes with circumstances. Maybe I hadn't seen it in quite the same light before, or with the turbulent background. Here I saw the downcast face seemingly oblivious to the gathering storm behind her. And the weathered, pitted and lichen-encrusted surface revealed the effects of the many storms that had preceded this one. And maybe the resignation that many more will follow. But in this moment a break in the clouds appeared and transformed the entire scene; ope somehow coexisting with despair.
There is a time somewhere between the golden hour and the blue hour when bad things happen. It's the time when a pet dogs returns home dragging its leash, owner no where to be found. Or the time when a cop shines his flashlight into a parked car in some remote location. He sees only a camera bag on the passenger seat and no sign of life. Or the moment someone discovers their car won't start at a point where their survival depends on it. It's a time when people simply vanish without a trace. And right before they disappear they realize that something is terribly wrong. Fear can bubble up like that, suddenly and with our warning. Everything is fine until it isn't. This is a photo taken at precisely that moment. The eerie mist of dusk and uncertainty settling down over south cemetery, soon to envelop the old graves and anyone foolish enough to remain. I was jolted from my reverie keenly aware that I had well overstayed my spiritual welcome. Adrenaline replaced my hypnotic calm as I hastily made my way out. Safe in the moment, I still get chills every time I see this photo.
The four seasons are distinctly charted on the calendar. However in real life there is often considerable overlap. Yesterday morning I was out raking leaves and even mowing portions of the lawn. By midday a snowstorm moved into the area, instantly transforming the village into a winter wonderland. There's a certain magic in the first snowfall of the season. It's been that way since childhood. As an adult I've come to appreciate that magic even more. Each year I make it a point to interact with it as much as possible. I love the feeling of excitement and the creative burst that seems to occasion it.
The magic quickly erodes as the season progresses. Each successive winter storm induces a mental beat-down effect that can result in all sorts of mental dysfunction. Winter just makes the outdoor aspects of daily life more tedious. I'm not immune from this, but for now anyway, I'm starting off with a fresh slate mentally speaking. I watch the Doppler radar with fascination as the display is inundated with blue, the color representing snowfall. I head out just as the darkest shade of blue approaches the village. I want to be out in the thick of snowfall, with the sky filled with flakes like a real life snow globe. I love challenging nature like this, avoiding the human tendency to take refuge, and facing my dislike and anxiety about winter head-on. Plus the magic thing. The storm did not disappoint. Wet heavy snow pelted down even though the air temperature remained just above freezing. Snow blanked most of the landscape except for sections shielded by trees, many still filled with leaves. There I found wonderfully conflicted scenes like this, vibrant autumn leaves abutting early winter. The line of demarcation sharply defined, magic intact!