Second verse, same as the first...

Another lazy, beautiful day as the holidays come to an end:

It was the kind of day for walking without purpose, to take opportunities to sit down, enjoy the brisk air and the sun on one's face. I took a route through the neighbourhood, stopping at a hill top park and down at a secluded beach. The frost was still evident wherever there was shadow, the rough edges of melt a record of the sun's passing. The water was still, reflecting the intense colour of the sky.

Lifting the Shroud

Title: "From unknown depths"

(click on image to view larger)

  

Looking at this image as I'm composing this post, I'm struck by how well it reads as an abstract composition, with three distinct bands of varying tones and shapes. Viewed larger, the representational interpretation will undoubtedly be more dominant, but it will definitely be strengthened by those abstract elements. It makes me realize that there isn't an absolute division between abstract and representation, but a sliding gradient from pure abstract to pure representation, with very effective mixes of the two existing in the large space between the poles.

Surf

Images of the surf from yesterday:

   

Surge

The wind was blowing in towards shore this evening:

   

The Colourful Sea

Images from a recent walk along the shore:

   

  

  

The Surging Sea; The Quiet Forest

Faraway dream

 

A welling up of desire

When thinking isn't enough

 

They stand in silent witness

The revelation is upon us

 

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Narrative can be specific, telling a story with such detail that we only use our minds to form pictures to go with words. But narrative can also be cryptic or suggestive, where vaguely painted pictures give free rein to the imagination to form words that have a very personal meaning. Perhaps the best narratives are those that strike a delicate balance between these two extremes.

Profusion of Confusion

Title: "Remnants of ocean stories"

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Every time I go down to the sea, I inevitably take pictures of kelp. I have an endless fascination with the lines they draw on the beach, the tremendous variations in tone as they slowly decay, and the variations of thin and thick. It's as if the ocean is a huge jet, and the kelp are contrails left at different times and in different directions. I imagine each represents a story, in the same way we often look up in the sky at contrails and wonder who's going where, and why. Perhaps one day I'll start to tell the kelp stories, illustrated with images like this.

Down to the water

Title: "We walked down to the water, absorbed in thought"

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I grew up on a lake, and live near the ocean now. Every time I walk the coast, memories of past adventures weave their way into my thoughts, creating an odd space where past and present are inseparable.