View allAll Photos Tagged metaphor
The Pigeon River, an enigmatic artery cutting through the rugged terrain near Grand Portage, beckons with an eerie tranquility on this partly cloudy day. Its waters, a chaotic blend of serenity and untamed power, reflect the dichotomy of this borderland. The scene, an intoxicating cocktail of nature's whimsy and man's insignificance, drags you into a frenzied dance between awe and fear.
Here, the river's relentless flow carves a path through the landscape, a metaphor for life's unyielding march. The clouds above play a psychedelic game, casting shadows that morph the river's surface from moment to moment. It's a theatre where light and shadow perform a perpetual ballet, illuminating the soul of this place.
In this snapshot, the Pigeon River isn't just water; it's a living, breathing entity that defies definition, much like the American spirit that courses through its veins.
HMM- the theme for today, 11/23 is spiky and this is one possibility :) this is another closer-in macro of an aspirin vial. .. there are 7 possibilities today- yikes
HMM "macro mondays" spiky possibility
A metaphor:
You have a choice... you can be a victim if you chose to be a victim, or anything else you want to be. But just remember that it is your choice.
(A.I. image rendered in Microsoft Designer)
Landscapes you can't take too much credit for. Landscapes are like a metaphor for life. You must consistently show up and put yourself in position for success. The sky and light changes daily and without daily persistence you will miss the opportunity given to you. The one thing you can admire about a person's landscape is the time and dedication that person took to be in the right place at the right time. A consistent grind to be in the moment that the heavens gift you for not being lazy.
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This forlorn little cemetery statue stopped me in my tracks recently. It struck me as the perfect metaphor for how I feel lately. Completely buried in a never-ending avalanche of bad news. I am a news junkie at heart, but even I've had to limit my exposure in an often futile effort to maintain mental wellness. The delayed outcome of the presidential election, coupled with the annoying and unnecessary delay in transition, have only served to punctuate an already awful year. And meanwhile the pandemic rages on. I was thinking the other day just how conditioned I've become to a daily onslaught of bad news. I recall the early days of the pandemic and the anxiety attacks that followed even a quick stop at a grocery store. Im way past that point now. Difficult to even remember a time before it all began. Going into stores without a mask; embracing people; shaking hands. Even family gatherings, all gone. Everything has changed this year, for better or worse. I feel oddly detached from the approaching holidays. The Covid format threatens to suck most of the joy right out of the season. I'm not quite as downbeat as this all sounds. I continue to find ways to relieve the stress by staying active and being creative. Can't help but wonder if artwork developed during the pandemic might someday be regarded as a unique genre. I'm not talking about photos of people wearing masks. Rather the subconscious impact on our worldview that emerges when we create. No doubt the pandemic has influenced us all, perhaps in ways that are yet to be recognized.
I made this two years ago for some digital retard class.
I loved it, minus the text and little girl I threw it in.
So, here it is.
Without any of the dumb stuff.
my beloved artist behind glass ...
which makes it not easy to capture but gives additional information about the environment ...
the order was exactly the hanging (curation, which is always of immense importance) ... there are only 5 horizontal stripes of different size and color, as it seems, mixed on the background ... there is no continuous line ...
there is an enormous difference in the colors and moods depending on whether I let the room light have an effect or strive for a "neutral" daylight ... the light sources in the museums often have different color temperatures, intentionally or unintentionally ...
Sean Scully (born 30 June 1945) is an Irish-born American-based artist working as a painter, printmaker, sculptor and photographer. His work is held in museum collections worldwide and he has twice been named a Turner Prize nominee. Moving from London to New York in 1975, Scully helped lead the transition from Minimalism to Emotional abstraction in painting, abandoning the reduced vocabulary of Minimalism in favor of a return to metaphor and spirituality in art.
Scully has also been a lecturer and professor at a number of universities and his writing and teachings are collected in the 2016 book, Inner: The Collected Writings and Selected Interviews of Sean Scully ... I heard from my friend Wiki ...
in spatial representation:
www.flickr.com/photos/poetry-and-truth/53446084024/in/dat...
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"Climbing is not a symbol or poetic metaphor of life - it is life itself."
- J. A. Szczepański, quoted in "Freedom Climbers" by Bernadette Macdonald.
Backstory: An expotition to Greenland
Dès l'aurore
Ma rivière se revet d'or
Devient métaphore
Reflet de ma rivière sauvage …!!!
Un safari photo impressioniste au quotidien concentré essentiellement (ou presque) sur un petit morceau de planète de 55 000 pieds carrés ...!!!
Une démarche "waldennienne" à la Thoreau …!!!
_______________________
Metaphor
At the dawn
My wild river is clothed in gold
Becomes metaphor
My wild river reflection …!!!
An impressionnist photo safari concentrated mainly on a daily basis (or almost) on my small piece of planet of 55 000 square feet …!!!
A Thoreau "waldennienne" approach …!!!
Found myself exploring the local cemetery the other morning. A blanket of thick fog had descended over the village before dawn and created an ethereal look to the surroundings. I wandered about completely alone in the burial ground which is exactly the way I like it. Very conducive to my habit of letting intuition guide my photographic exploration. I meander about and just follow the gentle mental tugs I feel to walk here or there. One of these tugs brought me to this shocking tableau at the grave of a young boy. Shocking in the sense that death is never celebrated in a place like this, not overtly anyway. I find flowers, angels and all sorts of tributes, but nothing like this. Outwardly it was just an inexpensive Halloween decoration, no doubt set here as a way of paying homage to the boy's love of the holiday. And I'm sure in a few weeks it will be replaced by another seasonal decoration. But in this moment it served as a graphic metaphor for an untimely death. I was struck with the pose of the skeleton, arms outstretched, the bony fingers, the face upturned toward heaven in seeming grief and despair, perhaps even disbelief. I felt very conflicted taking this photo. Part of me (a big part) lives for things like this. But that enthusiasm was tempered with the thought of standing over the grave of a little kid. I try to rationalize it by being empathetic to the situation. But I know I was guided here specifically to get this shot and tell the story.