I know the colours seem ridiculous, but this is what this camera does...
Friday, 24 September 2010
night reflections
Posted by stephen at 22:32
Labels: my art, photographs
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
innerfictions
Subjects
-
artists and writers
(19)
- cornell (1)
- diebenkorn (2)
- elizabeth bishop (8)
- jarman (3)
- kierkegaard (2)
- schwitters (1)
- sophie calle (2)
- colour (46)
- light (27)
-
my art
(72)
- 59 (37)
- paintings and collage (2)
- photographs (72)
-
nostalgia
(15)
- belonging and absence (15)
- ghosts (16)
- narrative (23)
-
place
(70)
- airports (6)
- bridges (8)
- cafes and bars (2)
- dereliction (9)
- desert (7)
- london (46)
- new york (10)
- newfoundland (3)
- south west usa (16)
- soviet union (1)
- thames (5)
- walls (12)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2010
(80)
-
▼
September
(42)
- Stories / Double Blind (No Sex Last Night) - 1992
- 59
- Gold light and passerby
- Blue umbrellas
- Red light and umbrella
- Narrative / Meshes in the Afternoon - 1943
- Midnight colours
- red and yellow and silence
- Firebird
- Sleep
- Sophie Calle
- night reflections
- Scarlet woman
- Waiting and separation
- On ellipses . . .
- All things sugar and spice
- Loss Distribution Curve
- Destinations
- reality is not necessarily truth
- My moose
- truth is not necessarily reality
- Isle of Harris - Luskentyre beach
- Dungeness - my sanity
- Makes me happy . . .
- Beauty
- Shadows and light
- Father's stories
- Waiting
- Stories
- Truth
- Narrative II
- Emily has become inscrutable...
- Next the mirror?
- Disappearing in all directions
- The fish
- Illuminations I
- Ghost buildings
- Yellow movement
- Blue night rides
- Sodium yellow city
- Doppler red light
- Stillness
-
▼
September
(42)
One Art - Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three loved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.
---Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.
No comments:
Post a Comment