Hello everyone, I’m Janet and I’ll be posting my Friday favourites in the fourth week of each challenge. I live in Melbourne, Australia and I’ve been writing my blog, muppinstuff for a year and a bit. Originally I joined SPC because I was taking lots of family photos but disliked and resisted being photographed myself. So I dared myself, “go on put yourself in front of the camera every week, stop being such a wimp….” It’s a good thing to be present in your own history, I think.
These days I don’t always have the time to post a portrait every week and some challenges inspire me more than others, but the presence of a challenge in itself makes me see the world in different and sometimes unexpected ways. I like that. And I really, really enjoy seeing the images and reading the stories people in this wonderful SPC community bring to each challenge.
Normally I blog (just as myself - Holli, or sometimes Mommy) over at Baby-Faith. The written word has become my virtual voice, as I’m a soft-spoken person who’s usually the last to speak in a crowd.
My photographs are the illustrations that complete the book of our life. While I try to capture memories and moments with the things I write - everything cannot *merely* be conveyed with text. Images freeze time so that we never *truly* lose precious details forever to fuzzy memories or the fog of age.
But to me, a picture should not *just* be an image on film (or a memory card) of a “thing.” I don’t want you to show me a flower snapped from some neighbor’s garden, or yet another fly macro - taken just for the purpose of proximity.
Show me something special… something real. Show me your life.
I want to FEEL something when I look at your work. Why did you take it? What are you trying to say - what moment have you frozen for all eternity?
I know there’s a theme every month - but to just snap something for the sake of fitting a theme is not what photography is about. Use the theme, but still try to find a way to show me what’s going on in your world. If it helps to write a post around a picture (I know it helps me) then try working backwards… Find something to write about - then see how you can take a picture that fits, and still uses the monthly theme.
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I was supposed to start contributing once a week (every Thursday) before this, but life got in the way. From this point forward, I’ll be choosing the most evocative, emotive, illustrative picture each and every Thursday.
Just one. I obsess and I’m picky - I can’t help it. I tend to get a bit OCD about these types of things.
A picture is worth a thousand words. Use them all.
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I looked at all the amazing photos this week, and although I saw several fantabulous images - only one truly “spoke” to me (and no, I’m not biased towards “mother/daughter” shots) instantly. I saw more than the patterns of a quilt passed down from generation to generation… I saw love… the most simple and complex of all human emotions.
I adore how their hair seems to flow together across the blanket. It’s quite lovely. And I totally give bonus points for a charming post, filled with Rebekah’s childhood memories of her own “little girl” days spent playing on that blanket. How wonderful that she can now spend them with her own daughter.
A day in the present, on a thing of the past - dreaming of all that’s to come in the future. That’s what Mommy/Daughter dreams are made of.
Image courtesy of Rebekah from Sunnybrook Farm Designs.
Until next Thursday, live your own story. And make sure to capture the moments forever. I’ll be waiting to share!
She would make her stand here. Come what may. No more running, no more hiding. If wild horses, wild beasts come to trample her, she will not fear them.
For the first time in her life, she felt like she was welcoming the future. And by that, making is her own. For so long, she had thought that, by choosing escape above steadfastness, she saw shaping her future, writing her own story. Now she saw that by standing firm and accepting the inevitable, plying it to her will, she was truly the captain of her destiny, even if it meant pain. If wild beasts came, she would simply stroke them.
It all came back to her, the past few days. Strolling through town, in that easy, light, state between moments of darkness, of dread. It was during these brief periods that she could open to the world. And could see it in all its beauty. She had stopped at the flower shop window.
As she was gazing at the various arrangements, she had remembered him. The look on his face when she had said goodbye. The stories she had invented for herself to justify her desertion. She had put a cage around him from which to flee.
At that moment, looking at the window, she had been ready to go back. To take those hard steps, to invite him back into her world, her life. And had thought of a flower as peace offering.
And before the moment passed, had called. And now, he had come back to her.
No savage beast, no evil enemy. Something more tremendous. Her life.
Hi everyone. I’m Cris, and I am writing from Brazil. I feel kinda silly starting “hello, my name is”, it’s so tird grade, but i figured this is a pattern too: when people meet, they usually exchange names and general information. So, my name is Cris! You might notice the spelling, without the H in the middle, that’s how it’s done over here.
I also go by the name Overcomeyourfear, and after a few unsuccessful trials to send my pictures to appear here, I signed up to be a contributor, and Kath said Ok, let’s try, and I thought that writing is even a better way to participate: I get to write, as well as choose pictures! I’m really excited about being a part of this lovely idea of a community of points of view.
That’s way I chose the pictures bellow to start this Friday #3. They show a personal view of the theme. Like the one of the toes, you can tell there’s a relation between the toes, they are alike but unique in the same time.
Or the one with the nice tiles in a random bathroom. I just loved to go to old people’s houses (usually grandparent’s friends or neighboors) to look up their bathroom and kitchen tiles. The pattern in the tiles can say a lot about when the house was built, and what kind of project of life they might had in mind.
I just loved the one with the tortoiseshell cat. At first it seemed someone’s hair, but then I realized it would be too hard to dye a person’s hair like that, which makes the patterns in nature so interesting: they don’t follow any reason or pattern at all, just a chaotic and random choice, and yet it can be very close to perfection, in its chaotic beauty.
The last one, with the dotted shirt, just called my attention because of the angle of the picture (and, also, because I would buy a shirt like that if in a store, I’m just dot-crazy!), I figured it wasn’t an easy picture, but it looks great.
Howdy — I’m Jeremy and I’ll be posting my favorites during the third week of each monthly challenge. I wasn’t too sure about the ‘Patterns’ theme at first, but I’ve kind of enjoyed it.
Without further ado:
Ya’ll are doing some great work on this theme. Can’t wait to see how everyone finishes off the month next week!
Okay, I must admit that it’s quite a challenge. But a fun one. So, after Part I and Part II, here is the third instalment of the Patterns Sunday story.
She snapped. Out of it. Turned around, dropped the cloth and made for the back door. And ran. There was a place at the end of the fence where she could barely squeeze in and get to the neighbour’s yard. She didn’t look back; she knew that if she did, it would slow her down and she wouldn’t reach the safety of the other side. She would run all the way to France if she had to.
Then she saw her shadow on the fence, Chinese theatre running along the planks. That was her answer to everything. Here she was, scared, already panting, aching, and she didn’t even know what she was running from. Not that that ever stopped her before. She ran from everything.
In the flash of an instant, the dream she had turned around on itself – like a movie played backward. Her children weren’t the ones getting out of reach, she was the one backing out. Same thing with the marriage.
But she was wily; she always made it look like she had done everything she could and that leaving was the only reasonable outcome. At least in her eyes. She had quite a gift for self-deception. She had constructed for herself this rich tapestry, this colourful world which took all her energies to maintain.
And which, as she saw her shadow dragged on the fence, collapsed upon itself, and shattered.
Greetings,
This post is being brought to you by new SPC contributor, Rachel. I am super duper thrilled to have this monthly opportunity to post my favorites of the second week of every month. (Or the ones Elizaboothy hasn’t already scooped up already!)
My friends call me Roxydynamite (really, they do ). I’ve been participating in the amazing community of SPC since January 2006. You can find me blogging at The Metaphorical Magpie.
Here are the images that made me catch my breath this week.
August 13, 2007 at 6:53 am · Filed under 25 Pattern
:: Print and pattern to challenge your idea of what a pattern really is :: Henna Painting on the skin :: Patterns and Shadows 1 to open your eyes looking down :: Hairy Water Close Up Patterns that don’t exist to the naked eye :: Patterns and Shadows 2 What can you transfer to your skin without leaving a mark? ::
Hi - These are ideas to get the creative juices pumping. I’m only including 5 so you aren’t overwhelmed, but please check them out - some are incredible!!!!
Here is the second installment of Sunday Story, based on some of this week’s posts.
She could see, through the fabric of her hiding cloth, the thin beam of light pouring from the crack in the door; could almost touch it. It grew wide and with it her fears.
At that moment, she receded into the farthest reaches of her mind; her fight-or-flight reflex set on an inward escape. Ingrained in her very being, through countless events of her youth and adulthood, countless slights, pains, hurts, deceptions, was this wish for solitary confinement far from the rest of the world. She could almost feel the wall between reality and her.
But she knew, this time, that she could not stay frozen, waiting for whatever horror was coming to seize her. Part of her would have jump off the floor, as if frighten by a common mouse. But a mouse this was not.
She thought of making a dash for the back door, somehow getting to the car before the intruder could double back, and lose herself in the morning traffic. But they would certainly get to her before she reached the safety of her own car.
As all these scenarios played out in her mind, in the flash of a thought, she knew she was starting to slip away. It was as if her body was staying behind as her spirit took flight. She could see herself, smaller and smaller, at the other end of a tunnel. And she knew that if she couldn’t, by some feat of will, snap out of this horror, she would be lost.
