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wind spirit
14"x14"
original acrylic painting
by Chelsea Rose
blogged about this here: lucidrose.blogspot.com/2009/11/finished-paintings-and-50t...
When I little, I asked my mom, "What is wind?" My mom pointed a swinging tree in the wind, and said, "the wind blows the tree dancing." From then on, in my mind, wind is just a dancing tree.
Skin: Tuli "Sumi/Starry/Light1/Green"
Hair: Juicy "Princess Hair-Black"
Earrings: Schadenfreude "Jerry Skull"
Dress: katat0nik "Striped Dollie Dress-lt green/green"
Tights: Aoharu "Rhinestone Socks-Green"
Shoes: sixty-nine "Nightmare-Black"
Key: Boom "Wind Up Doll Key"
Night slowy turns to dawn, leaving the stars behind as wind energy is generated by large wind turbines on the plains of eastern Colorado.
On the top of the South Downs, you can guess once which way to look for the ocean :)
Poor trees/bushes.
Stone house on the west coast of Ireland wrecked by years of pounding winds from the Atlantic Ocean.
One of a hundred images taken today trying to capture the majesty and amazing sight of this large "wind farm" between mountains where the crosswinds really are quite strong. Good thing for anti-shake technology in the camera! Just one tower is pictured on the next image.
Winter wind carves sand castles at a Nantucket beach
508-228-1700
nantucketchamber.org
Photo by Jamie Ranney
Renewable energy sources now contributes significantly to international electricity. In 2012, 23% of global electricity came from renewable energy sources.
I have become a terrible driver. This is not to say that I was a particularly talented one to begin with. Unlike most teenagers I slithered at a snails pace to get my license. At the age of 18 my boyfriend finally taught me to line up the cones in my rearview mirror and I parallel parked my way into convincing the state that I would be careful and obey the law.
Now, when ever I drive I look more at the trees than I do the road. As I rolled into Marietta I had to stop short more than once to avoid rear ending the car in front of me. My eyes darted from yellow to purple to pink. I wondered if the flowers on the side of the highway were weeds, I wondered if the residents of Mt. Peasant road had intentionally planted wisteria along their drive or if had been there for years, I wondered if it would start to rain before I could get out of my car and photograph the flowers petals that had suddenly turned the world pink.
Some stereotypes stem from repeated truths, so of course the weatherman was wrong. He canceled the tornado warning and I went for a walk.
There is a part of my mind that I know words fall short of explaining. It's the part of my brain that translates everyday life into photographs. The link between my eyes, my heart and my hands. I look at the red brick and see the team of men that spent weeks laying them one by one. I wonder who paid them to pave over the earth, I wonder if they believed that it was a fair wage for the work of establishing the ground we walk on.
I look at the red brick and I see someone's rich attempt to tame the wild. Where there once was forest, grass, dirt, and wildlife there is now a pretty pattern of blocks and blank black asphalt road that extends along the train tracks. Yet, as I walk down the block and look at the brick I see the weakness in this structure.
The roots of the trees extend towards the foundations of the houses and push the bricks out of their way. Green clover springs forth from between the gaps proving to me that there is real ground here. The train horn blasts as its cars roll past and shake the petals from the cherry trees that line the street. The wind picks up and gently pushes my body forward and carries the pink petals towards me and lets them settle on top of my shoes. I realized then that there is a purpose to the wind. It comes to us on the heals of thunderstorms and cloudy days but its presence coincides with the disappearance of the ephemerals. The wind rushes through and plucks the petals from the delicate flowers, making room for summer's green growth. The cherry blossom and dogwood trees are stripped of their flowers and settle on whatever surface will have them. Brick, ivy, concrete, steel, wood, skin. Everything is covered in wet layers of mother nature.
I look around and I want to absorb it all. The memory of the brick layers and the sensations of the wind, the structure of the steel grates and the freedom of the floating flower petals, the strength of the earth and the weakness of man. I photograph until my battery dies. I attempt to memorialize this moment. I attempt to praise both the brick and the dirt that lies below it. In my photographs, I worship the ground that we all walk on.
My kite line winder, inspired by the Premier kites Ultimate Winder.
This view shows the reel side, I chose a low profile knob so tha it fits in my ruucksack easier. I also intend to make a removable, longer handle for those windier days,
The brake is a 9.5cm electric scooter band brake, operated by a mountain bike grip shift gear selector.