hello my beautiful friend, it is so wonderful to have your return to the bridge, as if though you would never leave and my heart has never left.thankyou for this masterpeice that gives us a profound experience of vision.these windows are ephemerally dream like like the flowers that I have been enjoying this summer it seems more so than others-they have been my channel of light to the truth well no not to the truth today there is no truth -my channel of light.these windows are the windows of the soul they collect the light to view the inner dreamscape to construct a rainbowlike dreamscape and they are kaleidoscopic always shifting with every thought and experience transforming themselves until they dissolve as in the last magnificent image leaving their diaristic traces as you have traced out in the final image where the light can no longer be breathed by the soul but enters as a death rattle.and then there is a close of the soul.well I often consider how people view their worlds the way they do yes I often consider their trajectory.and the way I have viewed my world in the past and present the vision is in a constant flux and visually this is the perfect match to my thoughts.yes we are light players that construct endless dreamscapes and that is what gives us our cosmic bravura.oh Roxana, how extravagantly beautiful is this post filled with extravagantly beautiful light play.sending you pastel coloured soul kisses.
A wonderful sequence of images. The hard linearity of man-made things becomes so putty-like or wiggly, then gradually evaporates.Mankind imposes grids and angles and corners, but the rest of life is so wiggly and fluid....walls and fences separate and alienate us from nature...and too much individualism can lead to loneliness. These are my first thoughts upon looking at your images.
the first set are like bullet wounds; the second like your heart.
Oh ( :It is the drops coursing down the window it is the wall of watery windows it is the doors leading back again.A petal fallsswinging through wet air
Monet is smiling.
The colours reminded me of one of my favourite paintings.. Poussin's A Dance to the Music of Time.I guess everyone wants to see these pictures as windows into your soul (okay, okay, corny, I know!):-)hello,b.
I could make the obvious comment that these fading images are mirrors of what is happening with my eyesight...but why be obvious in the face of such beautiful and sensitive subtlety? What a fine series of pastel abstracts, looking as if they were traced in chalk and blown gently from the paper by a caressing wind or wandering moonbeams. The black and whites are very "mirror mirror on the wall" to me; bold and forthright and demanding of one's attention lest they swallow you whole.
Ja, da hast du wieder eine Serie gamacht, die mich sehr anspricht. Danke.
the drowned, reflected world...it all makes sense now!
oh, it's still 8 vs 7 to the grey. not good, roxana, not good. you have to help. we can't let the colours lose-especially since anon. has compared the pictures to your heart!:-)b.
the great difficulty of describing the appearance and disappearance of red amidst all the grey; the great problem of describing colour...If I said – remembering in summer, The cardinal’s sudden smudge of red In the bare gray winter woods – If I said, red ribbon on the cocked straw hat Of the girl with pooched-out lips Dangling a wiry lapdog In the painting by Renoir – If I said fire, if I said blood welling from a cut – Or flecks of poppy in the tar-grass scented summer air On a wind-struck hillside outside Fano – If I said, her one red earring tugging at her silky lobe, If she tells fortunes with a deck of fallen leaves Until it comes out right – Rouged nipple, mouth – (How could you not love a woman Who cheats at the Tarot?) Red, I said. Sudden, red.
thank you for all your wonderful words of empathy and for accepting to dream with me about the dissolution of windows, such subtle states of being that we tend to overlook them in real life, we need the quiet space of contemplation opened up by art to really let them reverberate inside...
i have to admit that there is something that makes me laugh between dissolution and dissolution in pastel. every time i come to see these photographs (and i have come often because they speak to me) i laugh between the two sets of representations as though they are different, different languages to represent the same idea. but colour and black and white are different languages, aren't they))) (i try very hard to understand what the difference is but i can not quite grasp it yet.) perhaps you have not demonstrated anything at all in these series but instead have revealed, pulled back that which we impose upon everything, form. perhaps the real structure is always this loose, this ambiguous. we are always so busy with hammer and nails and lumber making everything square.it was raining last night while i was driving. i felt right and at peace, in a familiar place. it felt very much like these photographs))i am grateful for what you do, how you see.xoerin
Ces flous flottants, ces images évaporées...Très beau.