for get pushed this week @vera365 challenged me to shoot a black and white image that works well or creates a special aesthetic effect when inverted...
so voila... this was originally shot on a black background with a spot light on the bulb... we had a major dust problem so i did a ton of clean up in PS before inverting...
What a fabulous image! Thanks for the challenge for this week, I will give it a shot and see what happens.
I am very conscious that this year September sees the 80th. Anniversary of the outbreak of WWII and all the hope that there would be no more war after 1918 had gone. There is a poem by Amy Lowell that I find very moving. I would like you to take something (or things) from the poem and illustrate it in a photograph. Here's the poem:
September, 1918 by Amy Lowell.
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.
I am very conscious that this year September sees the 80th. Anniversary of the outbreak of WWII and all the hope that there would be no more war after 1918 had gone. There is a poem by Amy Lowell that I find very moving. I would like you to take something (or things) from the poem and illustrate it in a photograph. Here's the poem:
September, 1918 by Amy Lowell.
This afternoon was the colour of water falling through sunlight;
The trees glittered with the tumbling of leaves;
The sidewalks shone like alleys of dropped maple leaves,
And the houses ran along them laughing out of square, open windows.
Under a tree in the park,
Two little boys, lying flat on their faces,
Were carefully gathering red berries
To put in a pasteboard box.
Some day there will be no war,
Then I shall take out this afternoon
And turn it in my fingers,
And remark the sweet taste of it upon my palate,
And note the crisp variety of its flights of leaves.
To-day I can only gather it
And put it into my lunch-box,
For I have time for nothing
But the endeavour to balance myself
Upon a broken world.