Australian still life with texture…
topaz texture effects
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Almost a whole year ago, I started a 52-week project with a group of like-minded individuals/photographers. Once a week, we post a photo that responds to a theme that (most of the time) I have selected. It’s been an interesting, surprising, challenging, and rewarding experience – I love seeing how the others choose to interpret the theme each week.
This is my shot from last week – the theme was ‘A flower’. It’s one of my favourites. The images are different to those I normally share here on my personal blog – they are part of a longer process, a result of intention and creation rather than reaction and observation. I like that. I like the shift in thinking. I like the flexibility to work in both methods.
Most of all, I like the sharing, and the feeling of working together to create something. I generally feel as though I would keep taking photos even if I never shared them (and I have a backlog of several thousand unshared shots to provide weight to that feeling), but in reality, I’m not so sure… there’s something about growth through feedback, growth through motivation, growth through constraint.
Anyway, our year is almost over. I’m already starting to miss it…
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Exactly two years ago today, I was walking the tracks around Cradle Mountain. I threaded a path across frost-crusted plains, my footprints cracking the icy surface as though I was alone here, my warm breath shocking the air around me into tiny clouds, disappearing too fast. The sky was soft and grey, and despite clouds trailing their bellies across my path, there was a clarity about the place, and, after a time, within me. I felt at home here, amongst the jagged, bare branches and the spindly grass.
I left that place the same day, but I carry it with me; I am always trying to thread that same path, back to clarity, back to calm, back to a single path of footprints that lead me to home…
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There is still life, and then there is very still life… so still, as to be frozen in time.
A slice of life, somebody’s life, tells its own tale of simple work, simple outlook, simple ornamentation. A simpler time, perhaps…