I used red filters a lot in my class. I like the contrast. I love the definition of my subjects when I used the red. I loved how it made the eyes pop, the clouds become mysterious, and the rocks become magical with their shapes and shadows. Using a red filter didn’t change the world, it just increased my capacity to see it clearly. Kind of like…rose colored glasses.
That’s the power of a story. It can take you forward and backward and sideways in time. You can be 9 years old one moment, 45 the next, and something that happened 96 years ago can be relevant in this moment and change your life in a way you never expected. Stories are the intersections of lives lived hundreds, thousands, entire ages of years apart. A single place where we stand fixed in an eternity that moves around us, ever changing and expanding.
Down by the shoreline, Down by the sea, The sky meets the water, The sand, and me.
Healing Through Farming: How the Earth is Our Common Ground
“I sing for the women who bled enough on their crops to feed nitrogen to hungry greens. Not enough each day to die only once, but enough over years to fill a family, a posterity, a Homeland.”
Something in the words that speak From blossom, bud, and dusty fruit Between the sky and dampened earth, Creations be of the Creator’s seed, They sing the story of ourselves, Storytellers from our very birth.
I breathe in, breathe out. The wind moves the orb where I lie And speak of the beauty, throw sparks at the bright, Weaving a story by day and night From threads, such fine, fine threads I spin.
I wait for the day when your picture inspires more than grief. When the joy comes back from six feet deep…