Just another day, just another scene from the city that I know nothing about…
Month: April 2015
Melbourne 365: Day 38
There’s something about this view that makes me think of contrasts… perhaps it’s the contrast between the thin, reedy masts in the foreground against those solid, chunky buildings behind? Or if I think bigger, perhaps it’s the contrast between the straight vertical lines that we create, and the wide, feathery brush strokes of the clouds? Or even bigger, the contrast between the rich blues of the sky and the water, creeping over from right to left as the last warmth of the evening flickers its orange tongue across the sky?
Whatever the scale, there are contrasts. Whether this leads to tension or harmony is not up to me to decide…
Melbourne 365: Day 37
What kind of creature would lurk in these depths, in this thick soupy nectar, straining to see through the dark? What kind of creature would leave those marks in the glass, chipping away at the surface? But then I realise – the marks are on my side. The creature is me…
As above, so below.
As outside, so inside.
Melbourne 365: Day 36
The reflections ripple and change, moving across the water like blown ink, like a tide, like the force of imagination, ebbing and flowing, the surface masking and revealing as it shifts and flows.
Melbourne 365: Day 35
I still miss the green. I think I always will.
Melbourne 365: Day 34
Something about the delicate play of light and shade, gently dancing across such clinical, unforgiving surfaces, caught my eye. It’s all pattern recognition I suppose – some patterns are easier to see than others.
Melbourne 365: Day 33
Proof inconclusive that the light at the end of the tunnel may well be an oncoming train…
Melbourne 365: Day 32
I feel such a board requires an announcement of great import; some world-shattering insight or proclamation. Perhaps that’s why it is blank – still waiting for the right thing to shout to the rooftops?
Melbourne 365: Day 31
We have arrived. Although where, exactly, I do not know…
Melbourne 365: Day 30
Autumn mornings in Melbourne are sheets of ice:
sharp
crisp
clear
thin
brittle
and cold – always so cold.
There’s a beauty in their clarity,
the delicate play of light across their surface that says
“I am caught in between what I was, and something new.”
Timothy Moss 