“Photography is not good at very many things- it is a poor storyteller if what you want is a didactic or linear narrative. You can read a book for that. Rather, photography is uniquely suited for addressing the ‘ever-passing present moment’ – which really means it’s more akin to poetry. It is good at emphasizing certain notes, tones, elements, and emotions – and lingering on them in time and space long enough to feel awkward, compelled, agitated, soothed, or simply paused… even struck… urged to reconcile with the moment that you are viewing.”Â – Kurt Simonson
pinched from Lehua Noelle
â€œLight thinks it travels faster than anything but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has always got there first, and is waiting for it.â€
– Terry Pratchett
Black is not a colour – according to some, it is the absence of light. Black is not a colour is bollocks. Black is hexadecimal value #000 it is also the K from the CMY… and Pantone’s Process Black and then there is Rich Black. Black is a colour.
Black is dark.
Black is like grey. There is more to it than meets the eye. Dark shouldn’t always equate to evil nor is it always an opposite.
Black has layers. Like onions. If your onions are black, you should really throw them out.
Love one another and you will be happy. It’s as simple and as difficult as that.
Love holds out it hands as an offer, it does not wrap it’s fingers desperately around a heart, it takes on definitions from petty to immeasurable. It’s wears a face of frustration, of hope, of pleasure. Love influences decisions, holds keys, starts journeys. Love waves, a hand, water, a tsunami. Love lays low and hides in dark corners. Love is bright and light and an open field. Love is a signifier, a magnifier a pacifier. Love is a smile, a word, a life.
Prayer the Churches banquet, angels age,
Gods breath in man returning to his birth,
The soul in paraphrase, heart in pilgrimage,
The Christian plummet sounding heavâ€™n and earth;
Engine against thâ€™ Almightie, sinner’s towre,
Reversed thunder, Christ-side-piercing spear,
The six daies world-transposing in an houre,
A kinde of tune, which all things heare and fear;
Softnesse, and peace, and joy, and love, and blisse,
Exalted Manna, gladnesse of the best,
Heaven in ordinarie, man well drest,
The milkie way, the bird of Paradise,
Church-bels beyond the stars heard, the souls bloud,
The land of spices, something understood.
Today is blustery and terribly Melbourne-esque. Spring dropped by to say hello and now he has gone away. Christmas is itching and the giant of mental tasks to slow down is hopping around like a jumping jack only ready to bite in frustration. There are books to be read – undecided, tea to be drunk – when there is milk, endless piles of washing and the gory tiredness that comes from dreaming about spending a whole day cleaning up after someone post sorting out your friend’s wedding dress the morning of their wedding – only in my mind. Why is it that date clashes abound this time of year? And days off still demand task after task, necessary or not. I would like to catch up with slowing down. Perhaps I need to learn to run backwards a while?