View allAll Photos Tagged shadowsandlight
A lone, weathered tree stands against the endless dunes, its twisted branches reaching for the sky like echoes of a forgotten time. The golden light casts long shadows, revealing the resilience of life in the harsh desert. Amidst the shifting sands, the tree remains a silent guardian, witnessing the whispers of the wind and the stories of the wild.
In a variation on my set of photographs from hotels rooms, I'm looking at the domestic images that get my attention in our low winter light.
Further experiments in micro 4/3 and back to an occasional series "Get a Room" all shot with a long vari-focal lens using available light. Hand-held, the focus is a bit soft, but I like the crushed shadow effect.
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Strobist: AB1600 with gridded 60 X30 softbox camera right. Triggered by Cybersync.
capturing this scene was like finding poetry in everyday shapes. the stark shadows against the burnt orange wall create a beautiful play of lines, turning something as simple as a wall into an abstract composition. there’s a sense of stillness here, yet the lines seem to reach across the frame with purpose, as if they’re telling their own story in light and shadow. this minimalist framing draws attention to the raw textures and geometry, giving an almost architectural feel to an ordinary setting. simplicity meets complexity in a moment that might otherwise go unnoticed, revealing the art in mundane details.
Winter Eyes
In winter
all the singing is in
the tops of the trees
where the wind-bird
with its white eyes
shoves and pushes
among the branches.
Like any of us
he wants to go to sleep,
but he's restless—
he has an idea,
and slowly it unfolds
from under his beating wings
as long as he stays awake.
But his big, round music, after all,
is too breathy to last.
So, it's over.
In the pine-crown
he makes his nest,
he's done all he can.
I don't know the name of this bird,
I only imagine his glittering beak
tucked in a white wing
while the clouds—
which he has summoned
from the north—
which he has taught
to be mild, and silent—
thicken, and begin to fall
into the world below
like stars, or the feathers
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
into snow.
~Mary Oliver