Summit: 11.28.2016

Distant as ever, the view obstructed and bleak, but mine.

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Posted by Gabriella.

A Map For Getting Lost: 11.23.16

 

I’ve walked so far. I cannot be lost again.

But I am.

And then there is you and you and you:

Stumbling towards the northern border

with a few wise pines watching from above;

Steering by a red light on the desert’s horizon,

a lighthouse in the sand;

Casting a ballot for false hope

In case it brings you back into the belly of the earth.

Alone, we cannot see the path.

So I will find you.

Come find me?

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Posted by Lauren MacArthur

A Map for Getting Lost: 11.21.2016

Snowbound leaves pointing the way to nowhere.

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Posted by Gabriella.

How Do You Take Your Tea? : 11.14.2016

 

 

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Posted by Gabriella.

11.8.2016: Pick a Color Any Color

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Russet, by Gabriella.

Stomping Ground: 10.31.2016

Otherwise known as a familiar, frequented place, or haunt. For the rest of the self portrait shoot in which I become a ghost in my own attic, see here.

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Posted by Gabriella.

Made of Stars: 10.25.2016

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Posted by Gabriella

Hunted: 10.17.2016

Continuing my words + image trend…two quotes by Bukowski that have lately haunted and hunted me, and my photographic response…

like the fox
I run with the hunted
and if I’m not
the happiest man
on earth
I’m surely the
luckiest man
alive

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Oh yes

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than
too late.

 

Posted by Gabriella

Hunter: 10.9.2016

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“The Lonely Hunter”  by William Sharp

Green branches, green branches, I see you beckon; I follow!
Sweet is the place you guard, there in the rowan-tree hollow.
There he lies in the darkness, under the frail white flowers,
Heedless at last, in the silence, of these sweet midsummer hours.

But sweeter, it may be, the moss whereon he is sleeping now,
And sweeter the fragrant flowers that may crown his moon-white brow:
And sweeter the shady place deep in an Eden hollow
Wherein he dreams I am with him — and, dreaming, whispers, “Follow!”

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Green wind from the green-gold branches, what is the song you bring?
What are all songs for me, now, who no more care to sing?
Deep in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,
But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

Green is that hill and lonely, set far in a shadowy place;
White is the hunter’s quarry, a lost-loved human face:
O hunting heart, shall you find it, with arrow of failing breath,
Led o’er a green hill lonely by the shadowy hound of Death?

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Green branches, green branches, you sing of a sorrow olden,
But now it is midsummer weather, earth-young, sun-ripe, golden:
Here I stand and I wait, here in the rowan-tree hollow,
But never a green leaf whispers, “Follow, oh, Follow, Follow!”

O never a green leaf whispers, where the green-gold branches swing:
O never a song I hear now, where one was wont to sing.
Here in the heart of Summer, sweet is life to me still,
But my heart is a lonely hunter that hunts on a lonely hill.

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Posted by Gabriella.

Wild Geese: 10.7.2016

Looking for inspiration for this week’s theme I came upon a favorite poem by Mary Oliver, then paired it with a photo that has nothing to do with wild geese. Or does it?

 

Wild Geese

 

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.

Meanwhile the world goes on.

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees,

the mountains and the rivers.

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,

are heading home again.

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.

 

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Posted by Gabriella