View allAll Photos Tagged metaphor
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)
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 passed by this old burial ground recently en route to the local market and related errands. Photography was the furthest thing from my mind when suddenly I was overcome with the sensation of great light. In this moment the landscape before me was bathed in the warmth of early morning sun while the background was filled with the cold indigo of an advancing storm front. Many a great photo occurs right in the middle of a squeeze play such as this...the visual boundary between weather systems. Instantly I started the mental debate about whether or not to stop. One side of my brain argues in favor being a responsible adult while the other tries to coax me with visions of spectacular photos. Usually the latter prevails but in this case I hesitated. And that hesitation almost always cements the decision to keep driving. It's sheer momentum; the inertia of a car moving 60 mph in the opposite direction quickly puts the intended photo target out of reach. And if I don't turn around within a mile I know I won't turn around at all. All sorts of rationalizing filled the ensuing miles as I talked myself into accepting a decision I knew was incorrect. Fast forward about two hours and I found myself on the return trip once again approaching the cemetery. The wonderful morning glow was long gone. But to my amazement it had been replaced with the arrival of the storm front that I had witnessed earlier from miles away. Now it was literally right over the cemetery! The sky was filled with snarling dark clouds, filled with texture, and animated in a wave-like structure. This was infinitely better than the earlier view, and with that disappointment fresh in memory there was absolutely no hesitation this time. I pulled over and immersed myself in this place and time.
Old cemeteries around here, and this one dates back to the earliest settlers, are very special places. It's like a walk back in time; I some how resonate well with the frequencies in a place like this which is one of the reasons I keep returning. Here I am taken with the iron scrollwork sign. It looms overhead, forming the top of a portal through which one must pass to enter. Very few of these remain. They were erected in the horse and buggy era and are usually not wide or tall enough to sustain motor vehicles. This cemetery is walk-in only with no vehicle access, and so the archway remains. You have to open a gate to enter here, and it invariably raises goosebumps on my arms to cross this boundary. While the sign is an anachronism, the message resonates just as loudly now as it did in the 19th century. Even if you can't read the message is unambiguous. You know what this place is based solely on the look. That's part of the reason I cropped out the name of this place. It's immaterial to the narrative. Places like this exist all over the world, so you can basically fill in your own name. Standing here in the moment, it occurred to me that I was seeing this sign was was intended...not with a blue sky background but one in turmoil. The waves in the clouds seemed to sync perfectly with the radius of the scrollwork. I had been brought here at precisely the time that I was needed here.
Border Line Exhibition
Now
Inside is Outside
Samsara and Nirvana
I have forgotten
No Border left
HKD
Kinderland Grenze
Durchgang
Nur für Verrückte
HKD
explored :)
i love music... and i love coffee too... both have the same effect on me - they awaken my senses!!
my ipod in a coffee cup
Hello Flickr Friends! HBW!!!!!
mwah :))
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 …!!!
Reflections in the Shubie Canal that suggest pareidolia entities confronting one another across a dark divide. The image could be interpreted as a visual metaphor for polarized partisan conflict.
D'abord écrit coquelicoq (1545), son nom vernaculaire est une variante de l'ancien français coquerico, désignant le coq par onomatopée. Il s'agit d'une métaphore entre la couleur de la fleur et celle de la crête du coq.
Figure of speech that implies comparison between two unlike entities, as distinguished from simile, an explicit comparison signaled by the words “like” or “as.”
The distinction is not simple. The metaphor makes a qualitative leap from a reasonable, perhaps prosaic comparison, to an identification or fusion of two objects, to make one new entity partaking of the characteristics of both. Many critics regard the making of metaphors as a system of thought antedating or bypassing logic.
Barely a month has passed since I stood on this lonely stretch of road on a gloomy day in April. Seems like ages now. I was taken with the visual effect of a blind hill. There's the eternal dilemma of wanting to crest it, but uncertainty over what lies on the other side. A wonderful metaphor for the challenges of daily life. I love the effect of standing on boundaries like this, getting as close to the edge as possible while still maintaining the air of mystery. At the time I captured this scene, the statewide shutdown from the pandemic was still in full force. As bad as it was, there was some strange consolation in thinking we had at least reached the nadir. That the bottom had been reached and we would begin a slow but steady upward trajectory toward normalcy. But the weeks of frustration, anxiety, uncertainty people had experienced weren't going to just dissipate. Massive numbers of COVID-19 deaths, rampant unemployment, followed by increasingly divisive arguments about wearing masks and maintaining social distancing. And still no resolution with nerves at a boiling point. A proverbial powder keg awaiting a spark. Into the vacuum enter four Minneapolis police officers in a fateful encounter with George Floyd. Mr. Floyd has the life literally squeezed out of him right there on the street in full view of bystanders as video cameras captured the grisly scene. I still do not comprehend why, after the man was clearly subdued, he was not simply pulled to his feet and driven off to be booked. It was the needless aspect of his death and the indifference of the officers that made this the last straw in the mind of the masses. And at once all of the suppressed rage and anger of the pandemic found an outlet. Watching the growing protests the past few days makes me realize now that something like this was inevitable. It's been a rapid and frightening descent into chaos. Not the protests themselves which are well justified, but the attendant violence, destruction and looting. I wonder what's over the next blind hill...hope and optimism, or do we simply crash into the next boulder on our way down the other side. Either way, it's clear we've crossed yet another divide from which there is no return.