RETRO ART
View allAll Photos Tagged QUICKENING
A river cuts through rock, not because of its power, but because of its persistence.
~ James N. Watkins
I posted an image of Mosquito Creek a few days ago and said that I would post some closer shots of the rocks and water, so here's one. I was right there in the water with my waders on and enjoying every minute.
A Thunderstorm
by Emily Dickinson
The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low, -
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.
The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.
The wagons quickened on the streets,
The thunder hurried slow;
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.
The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands
That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father's house,
Just quartering a tree.
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Dedicated to all those affected by Hurricane Ida ♥
The quickening of the senses, the whispered desires...
In the blackness of the night, our dark side takes flight.
I've always been a fan of the "film noir" genre. My humble attempt at depicting a "good-bad girl" heroine.
ISFLY ♥♥.
Her phone was buzzing while she quickened her steps, "I'm coming!" she exclaimed, more to herself knowing well who was the culprit behind the impatient messages.
It was one of those days when nothing goes according to plan. His shop was supposed to be closed half an hour ago but due to her delay he waited because she said she would join him on the trip home.
There it was, the perfect sign of his shop, "Hideout Blooms". The concept was quite different from other flower shops. He gave out tea, sometimes coffee. The aroma was so welcoming. Moreover, he encouraged his patrons to write or draw something with the flowers they wanted to buy. That wasn't enough though, he also crafted pretty gift boxes or fancy storage containers as she liked to call them.
"You are too slow." he said, when she finally entered the shop, looking really apologetic.
"I'm sorry!" she exclaimed and went to hug attack him on the chairs he used as a temporary bed. He sighed, watching her drag a chair next to him, invading his personal space as always.
"I made that for you." he said, pointing on the wreath made of blue tulips on his work table. She over-excitedly wore it over her head, smiling sheepishly.
"You want to go home now?" she asked, smiling warmly down towards him.
"Not yet, let's rest awhile." he said, making himself comfortable and using her lap as a pillow.
She held his hand, resting with him, inhaling the sweetness all around her. Flowers, left over tea, polished wood, old paper...colorful scents.
P.S. Inspired by 8f8 - BloomLife Collection
This is the junction of two rivers, the Afon Pyrddin joins the Nedd Fechan at this point. Brecon Beacons National Park, Wales.
BODY PARTS
may the wrist turn in the wind like a wing
the severed foot tread home ground
the punctured ear hear the thrum of sunbirds
the molten eye see stars in the dark
the faltering lungs quicken windmills
the maimed hand scatter seeds and grain
the heart flood underground springs
pound maize, recognize named cattle
and may the unfixable broken bone
loosened from its hinges
now lying like a wishbone in the veld
pitted bij pointillisted ants
give us new bearings.
Ingrid de Kok
A duo tone take on The Old Man of Storr, I thought that the light in the clouds around the pinnacles looked quite cinematic......hence the title.
Winters always seem to move slowly while everything outside is in its sleepy hibernation. And then Spring arrives and it's as if someone pressed the fast-forward button. Already the crocuses, snowdrops, white forsythia and early magnolia & irises have come and gone, while new leaves and buds are popping open everywhere. Now to just keep up with it.... :)
Sunset on the tidewater as textures, light, and colors change while the tide silently pores in at the urging of the sun and moon.
James City County, Virginia
He had been there before. "Newton by the sea", he chuckled to himself. "Haha!" he could bellow, for no one would hear him. He was alone. Castaway. He might walk the beach as the tide came in, gently, under a setting sun, but still he was trapped, in this lonely place. Still, the sea was calm and the old gold light shimmered on the sand as the ebb of the wave withdrew to gain strength for another push up the beach.
There was nothing interesting today. He had seen six dolphins pass by the evening before but until the wind gathered out on the ocean to create some drama the waves would not find anything apart from fragments of seaweed to litter the beach with; no driftwood to gather for his fire, no floating rubbish to show that there were humans over the horizon, no sails on the skyline to lift his hopes of rescue.
He looked to the clouds as he walked, their edges tinted with the same yellowy gold as the sand and water. With disappointment he realised it would be calm again tomorrow and so many hopes he had would be postponed yet another day. His mood wavered, like a sulk, and his chin dropped so that his eyes looked towards the sand just a few yards ahead. Life would go on, but not with the joy and happiness he could still remember from before. He sank into himself.
But a bright sparkle ahead pierced the darkness in his mind and he focused them ahead to the point on the beach the light shone from. Quickening his pace, he marched forward curious to see what lay on the shoreline.
Nearing it, he could see it was a bottle....a lone bottle cast up on the beach. The sunlight glinted on it. But a few paces on, his eagerness evaporated into intense sadness.
He bent to pick it up, savouring its feel in his palm. Smooth and cool. He could see there was a note inside it, a message in the bottle. It didn't interest him. He already knew what it said. Between thumb and two fingers he pulled up on the stopper, adding a twist to the action to pull it off. Slowly he raised the opened neck of the bottle. When it was just below his nose he inhaled softly. Immediately his eyes closed and his mouth softened and curved into a smile. "Hmmm", he sighed as he caught a last, tiny hint of whisky escape the bottle. He knew it's scent. But it had been a long time since he last caught that fragrance. A hint of Superstition. A Jura whisky.
It was a moment that calmed and soothed him and he sat on the sand, the world about him, his alone. He clutched the bottle close, like it was his friend. For, in a way it was. He already knew, exactly 941 days ago, he had last launched this same bottle onto a wave to carry his SOS message across the sea: his only means of communication. And now his friend had returned instead of disappear forever.
He shook his head, and forced another smile at his fortune. "Things could always be worse" he thought. He was still optimistic he would be rescued.
After a confusing morning in Puerto Natales walking 3 blocks this way and 3 blocks that way trying to nail down the need (or not) for camping and access permits in the Torres del Paine, we hastily purchased several days worth of backpacking dry goods, and headed north. As we passed Lago Sarmiento on our way to the Laguna Amarga entrance, this was the first real jaw-dropper of a look at the Cordillera Paine. The weather was fine, and months of anticipation were building to a crescendo as we contemplated hiking the Circuito around the Cordillera - 75 miles in 7 days.
In the foreground, the Lago Sarmiento is truly a shocking shade of blue. It is also quite basic (high pH), and one of the few places in the world with actively growing thrombolites, which form the gray shoreline in the photo. Hundreds of millions of years ago, ancient thrombolites produced the oxygen in the atmosphere we breathe now.
quickens our own and makes it so much the larger and better in any way. ~ John Muir
August 28, 2009 (DSC_0309)
There is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action, and there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique, and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium; and be lost. The world will not have it.
It is not your business to determine how good it is, not how it compares with other expression. It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open. You do not even have to believe in yourself or your work. You have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you. Keep the channel open. No artist is pleased. There is no satisfaction whatever at any time. There is a divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive than the others. - Martha Graham (1894-1991)
1/500 sec., f/4, ISO 250, focal length 17 mm
Brown tinged by salt spray, hardy plants take root and 'express their life force' in bedrock outcroppings near the sea shore.
Our eyes met, my breath quickened and in that very instant I knew that she knew that I knew. If I could have, I would have reached out and slid my hand into hers and squeezed. Then we would have talked about life and love and hair product.
Photo taken in an orphanage/AIDS hospice/preschool in slums of Bangkok. The Mercy Centre is run by a slum Catholic priest named Father Joe Maier.
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© 2007 Wiley Books
Photo of a rock garden playground at an AIDS orphanage/hospice/preschool in slums of Bangkok. The following is true:
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The chorus that christens the morning begins sharply at seven o'clock. Its crescendo rises softly in a child's soprano, then quickens into a staccato that flits like wind chimes through the slum priest's windows and the entire Mercy courtyard. Nothing about it is orchestrated. You couldn't if you wanted.
"Does a rock have life?" he asked me one day.
Silly question.
"Do rocks make noise?"
Sure, if you throw them against something.
Outside his house is a preschool playground with no swings, slides or ropes to climb, just beige sand and giant boulders, plenty of both. When Mercy constructed it from donated materials, the staff envisioned an aesthetic touch to the school yard. A rock garden, it's called. Then the preschoolers saw it and took off their shoes. They burrowed their toes into the sand and hopped from boulder to boulder, as if a creek gurgled underfoot. They patted and stroked the rough granite, pampered it like a pet, then marched around it smiling, laughing, joking. Turns out rocks and sand are good for more than their looks. The children were cut loose, told to go wild.
And that's when the Mercy morning received its gleeful accompaniment.
One of the kids told the priest that if one boulder is touched or climbed on then every boulder must be touched or climbed on. Seems all the preschoolers know this rule. You don't leave even one rock out, feelings get hurt that way. The priest shook his head at the obvious wisdom.
"Neither you nor I would ever think we could offend a rock, but actually it is a very (spiritual) concept, very cosmic, that all creation has life," he says. "So … does a rock have life?"
It can enrich it, I guess. Who knew? But left alone it's still just rock, and like the proverbial tree falling in the forest, maybe no one hears it, sees it or cares. That's where I figure he's headed: the Buddhist philosophy of interdependency. Everything affects everything else. Life does not exist in isolation. We receive by giving and vice versa. It's why Father Joe calls it a privilege for abused/orphaned/sick children to allow him to serve them. Their trust is electric.
"Yes, a rock is a form of life," he says finally. "Not one of the higher forms."
For more information on Father Joe's work and chairty visit the Mercy Centre website or its USA tax-deductible equivalent here
It is difficult to explain to someone from a warmer climate how much anticipation Minnesotans have toward the arrival of spring. Long, dark days of monotonous white slowly begin to end with a hint of spring along country roads and our hearts quicken.
The Quickening©David Rothwell Photography All Rights Reserved. Please do not use any of my images/digital data without my written permission. 2013
Please also REFRAIN FROM POSTING YOUR OWN IMAGES within my Photostream. I consider this rude and unwelcome. Posting an image of your own within my stream will not encourage me to visit / award, but will in fact have the complete opposite affect. Persistent offenders will simply be blocked.
Model: Mia Allen
MUA & Hair: Christine Shields
Assistant: Katherine Westlake
Photography, character, concept, book, dress modifications: Kindra Nikole Photography
[Finally a new installation in my dreamscapes series! It's been far, *far* too long. I shot this back in November but only just now completed editing it. Had such a fun time handpainting this vintage dress and painting and embellishing the book prop for this.
It's been a tumultuous journey these past four or so months, but I'm finally coming out the other end feeling fulfilled, invigorated, and excited for the future. Can't wait to create more dreamscapes over the coming months.
This particular segment of dreamscapes is indicative of new directions and ideas. The ethereal being looks onward and upward to fresh possibilities. The book she holds with a proud grace may just unlock new secrets in this hidden world.]
Homily062021_QuiettheStormu
“Let Us Cross to the Other Side”
One phrase in our Gospel reading quickened my heart, because I instantly related to its meaning. It speaks to the big and small decisions we make everyday in our lives. “Let Us Cross to the Other Side” is a statement that we should all relate with. With each event that occurs in our lives we make decisions (big or small)…and a new journey begins. Yes, our lives, are but a series of decisions and events with many endings but ultimately concludes with our death.
In this rich and deep Gospel story, Jesus is inviting each of his disciples to travel with him “to the other side.” Each of them freely makes the decision to enter the boat. From the disciples view, they soon discover that they are on rough water. It should be easy for us to relate to their predicament. However, Jesus we are told is asleep on a cushion. In their panic, they wake Jesus up, and state “don’t you care that we are perishing?” With the words from his mouth, Jesus simply says “quiet, peace be still.” All the storms are calmed now…the one they see and the one they feel on the inside. One can imagine Jesus calming saying “what are you afraid of…where is your faith?”
How often have we felt this way in the middle of a journey? The storms within our own hearts! How often do we feel the squalls, the uncontrollable emotions that snatches away our peace and clouds our judgement. I have and so have you.
Recently, I was traveling to see one of our parishioners. I was stopped at a red light, when the light turned green, I proceeded forward…suddenly I was in the middle of a sudden storm…my car spun around…and my peace was gone. After my daze, I quickly realized how blessed I was…in the spinning of my car…the deadly force of the other car had been swallowed up. A few feet more…and I would have been crushed. I made it to the other side of this event…and I am steal learning things about myself. What did the disciples learn about themselves, as they completed their journey to the other side of the lake? I suspect they had a deeper understanding and a “healthier fear” of the one called Jesus; their constant traveling companion.
Like the disciples on the boat, some storms we experience collectively-that would be together. Our Psalm reading, in the context of our shared experience of the pandemic, seems very timely. Is life not like sailing on deep waters where we experience wonder, mystery and fear. Sometimes larger then life events carry us to heaven (rain during a drought or the miracle of a as a vaccine that is available to us all) and sometimes we get carried to the depths-pandemics, droughts, earthquakes and war. What should our collective response be? I quote our Psalm reading…
They cried to the LORD in their distress;
from their straits he rescued them,
He hushed the storm to a gentle breeze,
and the billows of the sea were stilled.
They rejoiced that they were calmed,
and he brought them to their desired haven.
Let them give thanks to the LORD for his kindness
and his wondrous deeds to the children of men.
It appears that we are starting to see the other side of this event we call Covid. It has been a very long journey. As we arrive on this new chore together…we are wondering what the new normal is going to look like. We know that this journey has changed us…it has changed our Church community.
Every week we come to church where we are reminded that we do not journey alone. We receive an outward reminder of an inward reality that our God would never abandon us. I am reminded what Jesus said in John 14:27:
“Peace- I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.”
Jesus always resides with us and in us. In a moment we will physically receive Jesus in the bread…we will consume this bread of life. The sign has been given, Jesus is literally with us. The question now is where will we take Him?
-rc
Copyright Michael Kurman (bonobaltimore)...please contact bonobaltimore@hotmail.com if you wish to use.
“I’m not crying. It’s just raining. On my face.” Flight Of the Conchords
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Turns out we are visiting North Carolina to experience record rainfall levels. The all-time record in Asheville in the month of May (the ENTIRE month) used to be 9.1 inches. As of today, which is Wednesday 5/30/18, Asheville has been drenched with 17.97 inches of rain. And it’s still going!
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This rain is causing a lot of flooding around the area. Some people in other areas nearby are having to evacuate their homes. Several roads around here are flooded, rendering them impassable.
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We are pretty lucky though. If we’re going to be stuck in the rain, this is a pretty magical place to experience it. Right now, there is a cool breeze as the adults sip coffee on the covered porch and the kids snuggle up with us for a few moments between playing. The air smells sweet. We are safe. We are cozy. The flowers are blooming.
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What are your favorite rainy-day activities?
Hi one from some local woods at lunchtime today...this is pretty much how I saw it as I ran after the dog as she chased a muntjac (no animals were harmed in the making of this pic.).
An ICM/ME double exp in camera . 0.3sec
| The pure water. Drops scattering. Seeds of light falling in the grass, on the earth. She made light, also. She must have caught it from the angel. Her fingertips left stains of golden brightness that she struggled always to leave in threes or multiples of three. She had to speak. She couldn't keep it in. As though her mouth were full of water. But to whom? |
Adam Foulds
The Quickening Maze.
Mountain-ash" and "Quicken Tree" redirect here. For the Australian mountain ash, see Eucalyptus regnans. For the racehorse, see Quicken Tree (horse). For other uses, see Rowan (disambiguation).
My breathing quickened and I scanned the options - wp.me/p31YwA-lj
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there is a vitality, a life force, a quickening that is translated through you into action
and because there is only one of you in all time, this expression is unique.
and if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and will be lost.
the world will not have it.
it is not your business to determine how good it is nor how valuable it is,
nor how it compares with other expressions.
it is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.
you do not even have to believe in yourself or your work.
you have to keep open and aware directly to the urges that motivate you.
keep the channel open.
there is only a queer, divine dissatisfaction, a blessed unrest that keeps us marching and makes us more alive ...
Martha graham, modern dance choreographer
textures provided by skeletal mess:
www.flickr.com/photos/skeletalmess/3401274209
www.flickr.com/photos/skeletalmess/3103305536 and,
paul grand : www.flickr.com/photos/63263430@N00/2220227037
thanks to you both.
I borghi più belli d'Italia
The most beautiful villages in Italy
Civita è una frazione del comune di Bagnoregio, in provincia di Viterbo, nel Lazio, facente parte dei borghi più belli d'Italia, famosa per essere denominata "La città che muore".
Civita venne fondata 2500 anni fa dagli Etruschi. Sorge su una delle più antiche vie d'Italia, congiungente il Tevere (allora grande via di navigazione dell'Italia Centrale) e il lago di Bolsena.
All'antico abitato di Civita si accedeva mediante cinque porte, mentre oggi la porta detta di Santa Maria o della Cava, costituisce l'unico accesso al paese. La struttura urbanistica dell'intero abitato è di origine etrusca, costituita da cardi e decumani secondo l'uso etrusco e poi romano, mentre l'intero rivestimento architettonico risulta medioevale e rinascimentale.
Civita was founded by Etruscans more than 2,500 years ago.
The location of his boyhood house has long since fallen off the edge of the cliff. By the 16th century, Civita was beginning to decline, becoming eclipsed by its former suburb Bagnoregio.
At the end of the 17th century, the bishop and the municipal government were forced to move to Bagnoregio because of a major earthquake that accelerated the old town's decline. At that time, the area was part of the Papal States. In the 19th century, Civita's location was turning into an island and the pace of the erosion quickened as the layer of clay below the stone was reached in the area where today's bridge is situated. Bagnoregio continues as a small but prosperous town, while Civita became known in Italian as il paese che muore ("the town that is dying"). Civita has only recently been experiencing a tourist revival.
The population today varies from about 12 people in winter to more than 100 in summer.