View allAll Photos Tagged journalart
All elements shot with an iPhone6 and ProCamera app.
Edited on iPad with Leonardo app, ProcCreate and BlurFX.
To learn more about creative photography processes and art on an iPhone you might be interested in my book co-written with Bob Weil:
www.amazon.com/The-Art-iPhone-Photography-Creating/dp/193...
and website: www.iphoneographycentral.com
All elements shot with an iPhone6 and ProCamera app.
Edited on iPad with Leonardo app, ProcCreate and BlurFX.
To learn more about creative photography processes and art on an iPhone you might be interested in my book co-written with Bob Weil:
www.amazon.com/The-Art-iPhone-Photography-Creating/dp/193...
and website: www.iphoneographycentral.com
Pg115-116
5 x 9 in / 15 x 23 cms. Double-page book spread. Collage on paper.
Altered Book. Hand made. Not digital images at all.
Life.
©fdL2010
All elements shot with an iPhone6 and ProCamera app.
Edited on iPhone6 with BlurFX and StripeCam.
To learn more about creative photography processes and art on an iPhone you might be interested in my book co-written with Bob Weil:
www.amazon.com/The-Art-iPhone-Photography-Creating/dp/193...
and website: www.iphoneographycentral.com
This journal page was started about 6 months ago when I was traveling to a boring meeting in a vehicle with the boringest bores. The drive was about 2 hours long. I was lamenting about the snow.
I chose recently to totally brighten the page with fave colours & a fave subject - a flower. It turned the page into something beautiful from something quite distasteful.
Creating this page was like a Mantra. I loved making it. The next one will be squares and rectangles.
What I used to do if I needed a creative outlet, or if I couldn't think of anything to write. I never have the inspiration or the time for this kind of thing anymore but I look back through my journals and I'm always pleasantly surprised when I turn the page and see all these lovely colours!
cuandoEstalla_ElColor
September 2011 // Septiembre 2011
Hardcover. Visual Journal. Altered Book.
21 x 28 cms.
8.5 x 11 in.
Double spread.
Collage on paper.
Handmade. Not digital images at all.
Instants, sighs. Life.
©fdL2011
Parameters
Years ago I thought that life was a struggle–
and it was,
that things came hard–
and they did,
that it wasn’t much fun–
and it wasn’t.
Then I thought
that maybe life wasn’t so hard–
and it wasn’t,
that it was getting easier–
and it was,
that things usually worked out for me–
and they did,
that it was getting more fun–
and it was.
Now I think
that beauty, joy and goodness are everywhere–
and they are,
that things go incredibly well for me–
and they do,
that life is very, very good to me–
and it is.
~ madlyinlovewithlife
From my collection of poetry entitled, "Blowing Rings Around the Moon"
What I used to do if I needed a creative outlet, or if I couldn't think of anything to write. I never have the inspiration or the time for this kind of thing anymore but I look back through my journals and I'm always pleasantly surprised when I turn the page and see all these lovely colours!
What I used to do if I needed a creative outlet, or if I couldn't think of anything to write. I never have the inspiration or the time for this kind of thing anymore but I look back through my journals and I'm always pleasantly surprised when I turn the page and see all these lovely colours! I think these are song lyrics. Alanis Morrisette, maybe?
This is a true story. It happened in France after World War I where a whole village had been destroyed by the fighting.
Marie woke with a start to inky blackness and the familiar smell of dirt. Her small body shivered from the damp cold. As she roused herself to rearrange her rough bed of rags and burlap on the dirt floor, the nightmare that had jolted her from sleep closed around her head like a dark cloud. She had been having that nightmare every night.
It always started with a pleasant dream. She saw her beloved little French village. Then she could feel herself walking out of her old, cozy home with Maman and Grandmère and passing through the narrow street. Bright flowers were waving from boxes under nearly every window. The sun gleamed on the tall church steeple.
But there was another, frightening gleam creeping toward her village – the gleam of guns. Marie shivered again as the happy dream turned to the dreaded nightmare. Black memories rolled through her head. Terrified, Maman and Grandmère had pulled her into the trees. There, the three of them had flattened themselves against the leafy ground. Blue uniformed soldiers passed in waves. Guns! Fighting! Explosions and screams! Fire! When it was over, the village was not there any more.
When the battle had moved on, Marie and her mother and grandmother had tearfully sorted through the rubble that had been their home. The little family had moved into an old fruit cellar - “like gophers in a hole in the ground,” Marie thought sadly.
She burrowed into her rags and fell back into a fitful sleep. The soldiers marched on and on through her head. After the French soldiers in blue uniforms had come the German soldiers in green ones. To everyone’s relief, they soon left. Then had come the khaki uniforms of the Americans. The Americans had laughed and handed out French pennies to eager children. But when they left, the village was still in ruins.
When Marie woke again, sunlight was shining through the cracks between the old boards placed across the top of the fruit cellar as a roof. Hearing new sounds, she sat up quickly. This morning something different was happening. She wondered what the sounds could be.
“Maman, have the soldiers come back?” she asked anxiously.
“No, my dear. Go up and see who has arrived.” Maman looked strangely pleased.
Marie threw off the ragged covers and climbed the rickety fruit-cellar steps. She saw immediately that new men in gray uniforms had come to the village. On their sleeves and on their caps, they wore a red and black star.
“Oh, Maman!” cried Marie excitedly after watching them for several minutes. “The star soldiers carry saws and hammers, not guns. They are building houses!"
Marie thought they were soldiers because they wore uniforms. But they were not soldiers. They were British and American workers - perhaps the grandparents or great-grandparents of some of the children who are reading this story.
Marie thought quickly. She ran back down the old steps and grabbed an old sock. In it were six French pennies the American soldiers had given her. It was the only money that anyone in the family had. As she hurried back, anxious hope trembled in every step. She ran over to the leader of the men in gray.
Timidly, the small girl held out her tiny sock and showed the man her six pennies. “M’sieu, pouvez-vous me construire une maison pour six sous?” (Sir, can you build me a house for six cents?)
The man looked surprised and asked her to repeat her question. When he finally understood, he didn’t laugh or even smile but replied quite seriously, “Well, Mademoiselle, we’ll see what we can do.”
He didn’t say “Yes,” but he didn’t say “No” either.
Marie set up a daily watch to see what would happen. One by one, small houses were finished for other people. Each house was small and simple, but to Marie, they looked beautiful. How she longed for clean wooden floors to sweep and a beautiful red tile roof to keep out the rain.
Would they leave before they built a house for her family?
While she waited and watched, the fruit cellar seemed even darker and damper than ever.
Just when she was beginning to give up hope, Marie received her answer. The answer was “Yes!” Marie’s house, like the others, was built in just three days. To Marie, it looked like the most beautiful house in the world.
On the day it was finished, the leader of the men in gray offered the front door key to Marie with great ceremony, saying, “Mademoiselle, la clef.” (Miss, the key)
Marie took it and started to open the door officially, while her mother and grandmother and all the rest of the village looked on.
But suddenly she stopped, remembering something. She had offered them her six pennies for a house, so it wasn’t really hers yet.
Quickly she ran down the old steps into the cellar and when she came up again, she walked up to the leader of the men in gray. Now that it was finished, the house looked big and six pennies began to look very small. But it was all she had, and she counted them out into the leader’s hand. Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six.
Would it be enough? She hardly dared look at the man’s face.
The man smiled at her and said solemnly (in French, of course). “Thank you. Mademoiselle, but four pennies is quite enough.” And he handed back two of her pennies.
W. W. P.
"I-I-I love JEESUS!": My soul feels so uplifted each time we go to pick up Cat after she's been at camp. She absolutely loves spending time there. This last session was a teen camp with 125 campers ages 15- 17 years. This number fills the friendly camp to near overflow. On the last day there is always chapel at 11:30 a.m. Parents are invited to attend chapel. Seeing these young people standing on the benches and standing at the front of the chapel ALWAYS brings tears of joy to my heart. In those moments when the voices are uplifted in the words "I-I-I love JEESUS!", one can't help but feel surrounded by miracles.