Metaphor and Analogy - **In Title or Description**
View allAll Photos Tagged metaphors
signalling a new direction
For some time now I've struggled to keep up with flickr...
I try to think of ways to be generous and reciprocal
and also meet my own needs to be more playful...
to have more time and energy for making images
and also for making lucid comments ;-)
For now I'm going to try being more flexible...
embrace a little more imperfection :-)
I'll still respond to comments
(this connection brings me happiness )
and I'll enjoy visiting those who leave them :-)
But I'll be more free about timing...
and not respond to every fave.
Tho I'll try to recognise loyal and wordless fave givers
I am, after all, often one myself.
Not an easy change to make.
But something has to give.
So here's to generosity and freedom.
Meet you
at the intersection ;-)
No one remembered to put in their original teeth
at the plant nursing home
so they can’t tell the nurses and aides
to turn off Fox news
and they wither like they’ve been
left for an eternity to suffer
for all their long lost sins.
**All poems and photos are copyrighted**
~ The sky is often used as a metaphor
And I suppose that's because it's so big and expansive
When a long strand of cloud sits just above the horizon
Leaving a strip of clear blue beneath it
It becomes the panorama
It'll turn your head three hundred and sixty degrees,
And the same line follows you round if the land is sufficiently flat
Really, nothing can be compared to it
I am not an acrobat…
I cannot perform these tricks for you
Losing all my balance…
Falling from a wire meant for you ~
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© Copyright by Floriana Thor 2013-2015
A child’s toy and an old bench....childhood and old age.... A visual metaphor? Or maybe just a little boy who got called to lunch and left his trike on the sidewalk!
Walking in fog often provides a visual representation of my thought process. My brain constantly brings different topics into view, but in the process lets others slide into the periphery. Most of the time they are all still there, competing for my attention, but all in varying degrees. In fog I respond to the overall loss of clarity, but also the nuance that is created by relative distance. It's this layering effect I find most appealing as more distant objects eventually recede into nothingness...exactly the same as my mind reacts.
Walking outdoors this morning felt otherworldly. I love seeing familiar places rendered as ones I'm visiting for the very first time. A rich dichotomy as the serenity of fog is ripped apart by this visceral reaction. In these moments I invariably come up with camera angles that never would have occurred to me in normal circumstances.
My dad said don’t play the flute.
Too many girls play the flute.
You’ll never win that competition.
Instead, play the tuba and make a loud noise.
As loud as Godzilla’s roar.
Shake the ceilings and the floor.
You can hide behind it.
You can claim someone else made it.
You can fill a room and disappear.
**All poems and photos are copyrighted**
Unless there is the iPhone icon, all photos were taken with a Nikon or more recently, with a Sony Mirrorless. I ioften import the images to a 12.9 inch iPad for editing.
This is a piece by Nancy Rubins at The Art Institute of Chicago. It really reminded me of a collection of broken worn out elements of childhood, which is something I feel like would be an apt metaphor for a lot of things-how technology has replaced actual wholesome sensory experiences for many kids...or how the pandemic has created a situation in which kids don't have the same rich childhood experiences anyway. In the background of this piece is a part of the Chicago skyline and my partner, Cinchel, who is the only one to see me without a mask each day for these past or so days. Feels a little surreal and strange and all of it very unwelcome in my brain but I feel a greater sadness to those who were alone and didn't want to be or those who were with someone and were abused or in a toxic situation.
That's the thing about humans, I guess. We're always capable of so much creative and also love for each other but what will we probably leave behind when we cease to exist? We'll leave behind a collection of broken down products.
www.artic.edu/exhibitions/9524/nancy-rubins-our-friend-fl...
***All photos are copyrighted**
At a time of a historic pandemic and racial discord/violence, major league baseball seems to reflect the times. Even as the virus may be waning, the different sides (the teams and the players) cannot agree yet on what's fair compensation for a shortened season. As a baseball fan who loves the idea of the USA...and it's the first country started as an idea if you think about it....I hope the sides can come together. Maybe the stitching's just gotten too loose and we can tighten them up a bit?
A day to be kinder, to be braver, to be more.
Light is more than watts and candles, is a metaphor.
Light is knowledge, light is life, light is love.
maps.secondlife.com/secondlife/Baddest/89/232/2532
De Andrè
Inverno
youtu.be/1FSU_EJjp3s?feature=shared
The singer-songwriter uses a delicate metaphor to talk about winter as a period of rest for nature, a sort of heavy sleep during which the earth recovers from the toils of the past year. In this dark and cold scenario, however, a note of hope and rebirth emerges, represented by the snow that will go away and the warm wind of summer that will bring with it past joys.
The lyrics of the song are accompanied by poignant and melancholic music, which adapts perfectly to the atmosphere evoked by de André's words. His warm and deep voice gives the song an intimate and engaging tone, which touches the deepest chords of the soul of those who listen.
We just experienced yet another reversal in the mild spring weather pattern here. A warm and dry phase quite rudely shoved aside by a cold and wet one. Frustrating to adapt to high temperatures in the mid-40s after experiencing the mid-80s. Still the change of seasons presents dynamic visuals that are greatly enhanced by the weather. Such was the scene here amid an expansive field of vibrant dandelions beneath a dark and brooding sky. I love the luminescent quality of flowers on overcast days. Even the grass seems full of vigor now that it is emerging from the dreary phase of winter. Viewed from a distance, the individual dandelions meld into a monolithic sea of yellow. Making my way into the meadow created a feeling of immersion into springtime. The vastness of the scene seemed best conveyed by a closeup view of a single dandelion. I was struck by the way the petals seemed to burst out like a miniature fireworks display of spring color.
I love finding conflict in the scenes I photograph. A sort of mismatch between visual elements that adds visual interest. Oftentimes it's all in my head. But even then it helps set the creative tone. The through line in my recent winter photos is the visualization of fallen snow as a substance full of depth and shadow, the complete opposite of the eye's perception. Nothing underscores that theme as much as this woodland scene. Brilliant backlight of the morning sun highlights new fallen snow perched on the branches as well as flakes in midair. It seemed as if so much as a sneeze would knock everything out of kilter. I found my conflict in the maze of vein-like shadows, cast by even the thinest branches. The brilliant light played magically against the shadowy foreground...bright white snow rendered in the darkest tones.
Waterfalls are my favorite metaphors. Each and every one of them effortlessly recounts one or the other little fragment of mine… my thoughts, moods, and/or emotions. Some, like melancholia, flow year-round; others are seasonal, like tears. Some are bright and mighty; others are tender and lucent in grey dark light. Some roar, sing, or whistle; others listen. Some guard secrets; others spill them. Some remain strangers; others become friends even before I get to know their name. Some flutter like my soul-songs; others, like the one above, are my incomplete poems.
“I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we's coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world every day. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?”
John Coffey, “The Green Mile” by Stephen King
2020 seemed to start off just fine but rapidly became rather hazy.
Wishing everyone a happier, safer and very peaceful new year! Take care.
Olympus Pen-F.
A clump of wild timothy sways languidly along a rural road in the moments before an ominous thunderstorm storm strikes. I’m always in search of borders and boundaries when out with the camera. I love photographing them, and even more standing astride them. This is one of my many odd behavioral traits that defy rational explanation. As a result, attempts to discuss them often sound irrational (if not downright ridiculous). With that risk in mind, I’ll just say I think at some level, boundary lines represent unseen (yet highly palpable) energy fields. That includes boundaries both real and liminal. It relates to creating photos based upon a reaction to how scenes or situations make me feel.
Back in the moment on the old farm road, I’m already pretty charged up about the storm. It’s what brought me to this spot in the first place. And for my money, it’s one of the best visual and emotional boundaries imaginable, standing right along the leading edge of an intense storm. And on the edge of an expansive farm field which creates a visual effect of multiple boundaries within a single frame. In this case newly mown hay casting a wonderfully warm color contrast against the cool, dark sky. And as I walk along, I stumble upon the timothy grass. The stalks look delicate and tranquil as they gently sway in response to the breeze. Their presence made even more prominent by the raging storm looming in the background. It’s one of those scenes that exists only in this moment, and I could think of no better way to illustrate the fury of the storm than to focus on the calm in its path.
Show up, pay attention, stay present. Little wonders are everywhere. This tree is in the middle of the forest next to a wild and scenic stream. Imagine our delight upon stumbling across it!
Nice metaphor for a lot of life’s situations and changes on the soon horizon…good things to come, starting with my health after Covid.
Each year I find myself pulled in many different directions and usually forget to take care of myself and my own interests along the way. My creative side goes into hibernation and inevitably lose my mojo.
Here’s to getting back on track for myself sooner than later. I can’t wait to share more.
I'm very fortunate to live in a rural area with easy access to woodlands, meadows, streams, ridge lines, valleys, and crop fields. I derive a great deal of energy and mental stimulation by entering into these spaces. I used to think it was the result of the oxygen released by plants. But it's much more than that. The visuals are quite often stunning, and motivate my creative mind. However I feel the same energy even if I take no photos at all. For me it's all about being immersed into scenes such as this, both literally and emotionally.
Walking through this meadow filled with dead and withered leaves filled me with a sense of life and vitality. Don't ask me to explain the dichotomy. It just is. There's simply as much (or even more) energy here now as there was months ago when this was all lush and green.
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!
This was one of those scenes that felt every bit as eerie as the resulting photo. Standing in this old cemetery on the verge of sunset with the setting sun shining through the gravestones like a macabre Stonehenge. The very last rays of warm light illuminating the hillside before me, soon to be pitched into the inky blackness of a November night. I thought about the visual metaphors for life and death, crossing the boundary between day and night, and as always that weird tingle when I find myself right on the dividing line between two opposing energy forces. Moments like this are always fleeting and that's only adds to the excitement. Not simply fleeting but heavily nuanced in both light and mood. I could return for the next year of sunsets but they would never look or feel exactly the same as this one. I'm existing in the moment this frame is captured, and it becomes part of my history the moment the shutter closes. I can look back at it but never return to it. But that doesn't lessen the memory. It's actually haunting in a way. Even now I can't imagine how I came to be standing in this exact spot at this exact moment. It just happened.