Happy New Year!

To get you thinking about fresh starts, and warmer weather. =) I wish everyone a wonderful New Year.

Regardez-moi

I thought we needed a break from winter photos. Here's a shot from a *long* time ago. As in, I was in high school when I took this. I haven't really done on any work on the image, if I did I would probably correct the slightly yellow color cast, make it a bit cooler. Anyway--kind of fun to look back on things.

Crystalline

Glaze

New photos! I've had them stewing in my camera for a week or so, and finally got around to uploading them onto the computer. I've gone through quite a few of them, so I'll start posting them. Some will go here and some will go to my DA account.

Between Yule and Christmas we had a freezing rain during the night, glazing everything with a layer of ice. By the time I finally made it outside, the ice was starting to fracture, melt, and fall off the branches, which made it fun for me. Lots of cold drips on the top of my head.

This photo doesn't have the best of focus--looks almost like I took it with my lensbaby, which I didn't. I think the lens got a little "frogged" up when I wiped a drop from it. Anyway, I just liked the range of colors in this photo. Whoever said winter was just white couldn't be more wrong. ;)

Contenders

Just submitted my photos for the Lensbaby "contest." You can view them and all the other entries--hundreds of photos!--here. Voting doesn't take place until Jan. 1-7, so I'll keep you updated. Cross your fingers for me!

Now to go let the muse out of the box... I've been developing a sci-fi/fantasy in my mind for the last few months and the main character is getting rather loud lately. I'm not going to start working on his story--I like to only work on one novel at a time--but I might allow him some leg room with an exercise. Otherwise it's back to my other novel. I'm determined to have it completed by spring--maybe even edited by then. We'll see. I guess being unemployed does have a perk: time to write! (And ride, for that matter.)

Fugitive Paths

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday week--not too much stressing, and so forth. I had a good one myself. =)

This'll be a bit of a hodge-podge post. Another wintry trail photo for you, in case you're still enjoying the mood of wintry festivities (like me). I did a bit of temperature adjustment with it, to make it a little more warm. I really miss walking in those woods with my college friends (the property and its lodge are owned by my now-old university, so I don't expect I'll really ever see them again).

Anyway. This week I'll be submitting two photos to Lensbaby. If chosen, they could get published in a Lensbaby book, which would be very exciting. I'll be submitting Atone and Give, Take. If there's a public vote, I'll be sure to let my beloved readers know. ;)

Lastly, I thought it would be nice to bring a highlight to some authors I enjoy. They are artists, after all, and as I like to feature my favorite artists, I decided they should be included. (Being a writer myself, this only seems fair.)

To do this, I'm not really going to give a review or synopsis, maybe just a comment or two. Mostly I'll just quote a passage. In writing, like how I view the world, I am drawn to the tiniest details, the images that glitter through the page, the moments and lines so perfect they can be tasted, touched, cupped in the hand like water--beheld for a second, but never captured. In reading, I am undone by these things, put back together again only by that final period. Like a dreamer turning over. When I edit, I try to push for these things, try to peel back the layers of ink so the language can breathe, leaving a wake of marks covering every line and margin. Perpetually desirous. Perpetually optimistic.

This first passage is taken from Anne Michaels' Fugitive Pieces, a novel I never would have picked up had it not been for one of my best friends at college. She'd been reading it herself, left it on the window sill while she left me alone for a moment. I read only the first paragraph, and I was captured. Not just hooked or intrigued--really, it's not generally the kind of story I go for--but Michaels' language was perfect, vivid. When I finally got my own copy, I read it with a pencil in hand and underlined the lines I loved most, the images I wanted to rub from the page and claim for my own. Looking through it now, 75% of the book must be underlined. It is haunting, mesmerizing, lyrical, and groping. Never have I read anything with such a sense of the dead.

I ran and fell, ran and fell. Then the river: so cold it felt sharp.
The river was the same blackness that was inside me; only the thin membrane of my skin kept me floating.
From the other bank, I watched darkness turn to purple-orange light above the town; the colour of flesh transforming to spirit. They flew up. The dead passed above me, weird haloes and arcs smothering the stars. The trees bent under their weight. I'd never been alone in the night forest, the wild bare branches were frozen snakes. The ground tilted and I didn't hold on. I strained to join them, to rise with them, to peel from the ground like paper ungluing at its edges. I know why we bury our dead and mark the place with stone, with the heaviest, most permanent thing we can think of: because the dead are everywhere but the ground. I stayed where I was. Clammy with cold, stuck to the ground. I begged: If I can't rise, then let me sink, sink into the forest floor like a seal into wax. -Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces

One more, just because it took me nearly an hour to select a passage. XP

I fill my pockets and my hands with stones and walk into the river until only my mouth and nose, pink lilies, skim the air. Muck dissolves from my skin and hair, and it's satisfying to see floating like foam on the surface the fat scum of lice from my clothes. I stand on the bottom, my boots sucked down by the mud, the current flowing around me, a cloak in a liquid wind. I don’t stay under long. Not only because of the cold, but because with my ears under the surface, I can’t hear. This is more frightening to me than darkness, and when I can’t stand the silence any longer, I slip out of my wet skin, into sound. -Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces

Spaces

Like the space between words, I contemplate the cracks of sky.

Happy Yule!

Wishing everyone a happy, blessed Yule!

Not much is going on here...Did some "last minute" shopping, went to the stable and spent time with the moose--er, horse, came back to find the tree strung with lights! Let the light shine. =)

I was going to share my favorite Norwegian folk tale, but I can't find my book...I shall search sometime this week, perhaps, and get back to you. ;)

Check in the box

A very dull post for you.

I managed (finally) to add a working contact form box to Soulstrings. So, if anyone needs/desires, they can now contact me privately via the form. A permanent link to the contact form is now at the top of my side panel for easy reach. =)

I also backup-ed this blog for the first time! For those fellow bloggers who don't (yet) backup your blog, you should! You never know when something will happen and suddenly every post is gone. I used Blogger Backup, a free downloadable program that backups posts and comments to your local hard drive. In the event of a wipeout, there's even a button to restore all posts and comments.

In other news, I promise to get something more interesting posted in celebration of Yule/Xmas/insert-holiday-of-choice-here. I was going to tonight, but now I'm awfully tired. I want to do a little writing yet, of course. ;)

Courting

Another poem for you! And the story of its creation...

I hear music through scenes in my mind. That is, when I listen to a song, I see a narration in my mind--images or characters or movements and colors, all expressing every musical phrase and note. This little quirk came especially handy in Music History classes, when my prof would ask us to write down our impressions of the pieces we were required to listen to every night. She never really cared what we said, so long as we put the listening experience into words. Some people described the music, the players, the instrumentation style. Some people tried to frame it in the historical context of the previous lecture. Not I. I wrote down little stories, adding in references to specific moments in the pieces. Once I wrote about a little girl with a red umbrella, dancing in the rain in her white ballet slippers. The narration of the piece followed her as she explored a world of rain, a world departing from her own. I can't remember the specific piece that inspired it any more, but I believe it was one of Haydn's. At the end there was a rather dramatic tonal shift, which became not only the end of the downpour, but also of reality stripping the little moment of magical splendor the girl had enjoyed.

My point is, that is how this poem came to be. Not from my music history notes, per say, but its images came to me through song. (Unfortunately, my original file containing the piece's information was corrupted two years ago. Luckily I'd written the poem by hand and still had it--on three post-it notes, no less.)

Courting

Sun-caught espresso
The color of your hair
As you ran through the grasses,
Tall as your chin, golden and seeded
Low whistles when the wind pushes them back
Bending the stalks but never breaking
Just as you always bend my thoughts,
Curling them around your thumb
Like a stray wisp of your silk-threaded dress.
We've spent hours here
Before this pond,
All the while dipping our toes into the cool,
The ebbs of shadows and flickering sky reflection
Upon your face, a dance of light
And I wondered what brush the artist would use
To capture the curl of your bang
Or the feathered gleam of your smile.
You leave me always crawling,
A star with no north to
Guide me,
And so we swim in the wilds,
Leave our clothes on the grassy bank
And pull leeches from our feet as the air pimples
Our skin.
We've come a long way from home
But I know afternoons never fade--
In some heart of time I know there is no present
Because there is no constant tock
From which we drag ourselves.
Even peering into the wrinkles of our faces I
Will see you as I see you now
And not the hollow of your eyes
Staring back at me without thought
Fingers straining for the hand that never came to
Hold them and bring you back to air.
Yes, sun-caught espresso
The color of your hair
As you ran through the grasses,
And I wondered so long
Trying to capture the flicker of your soul,
And now here is all that is left,
The seeded gold grasses and prairie and oak,
The weathered wood rowboat tied to shore
Of a pond whose leech-gray waters have been so still,
And when I look into them no ebbing of light do I see--
Like a stray wisp of your silk-threaded dress,
My will also breaks
And the silent waters ripple once again.

When stars fall

Yay, more blizzardy photos! ;) Just outside the back door we have a triangular trestle, and a gigantic monster of a thorny plant growing around it. The creature is far from contained, but it never fails that a few birds make nests in it before we get around to pruning it. The snow got so heavy on the thorny branches that, not only did it resemble something you'd see in a forest (think curtain of doom), but it had toppled over the very sturdy tressel.


Somehow the snow was kinder to our little apple tree. I think the lensbaby emphasizes my point a little. ;)

Also from the Monster Plant. It's a bit out of focus, but I was more attracted to the effect of the branches anyway. Alien grapple-hooked appendages, anyone? XD

Wonderland

Yesterday we got over 17 inches of snow. We'd already gotten a fairly good amount by the time I went to bed the night before, and I practically had to tear myself away from the window. Huge flakes falling, covering everything. We even had some thundersnow, which was pretty awesome. (One strike sounded like it was right on top of us.) Waking up was almost surreal--everything was white. Solid, blanketed, laden down, white. Branches touched the ground, bushes looked like twiggy cupcakes, and you couldn't see the difference between lawn and street.

Everyone in the neighborhood was home, and by 9am, stood outside with shovels and snow-blowers while the handful of smaller children chased each other around in the street. We got suited up and headed out ourselves, brushed snow off bushes and freed branches, watched the younger guys up the street try to shuffle cars in their driveway so one could get his mini-bed truck out. He barely made his way around the corner, fishtailing more than driving straight. I got my camera out and set about "exploring," then helped shovel.

Just after everyone had gotten things cleared out, the plows came down the street for the first time. They say dentists are the most hated among all professions. But I'm not sure they ever considered the plow driver. The poor guys work all hours making the streets drivable, keeping entire cities from shutting down completely, and yet every shoveler curses them for the foot-high wall of icy, compacted snow they deposit along every driveway, for blocking in cars left unwisely on the street.

All the magic of a snowday melts away the moment the street is cleared. Even with driveways and sidewalks uncovered, there is still a feeling of being cut-off, isolated like an island, hidden and detached from the ordinary, everyday world. For a few minutes before the plow, we can pretend that the world before us is new. Undiscovered. Transformed into something just beyond reality.

Stablelight

My first real foray into texturing photos. I've done photoshop work with layers and such many, many times before, but I never really ventured into the "texture photography" or "digital art" realm of things before. I've thought about it. Sometimes I really like textured photographs, but I am very picky about it.

As such, I would really enjoy feedback on this one. Initial reactions are totally fine, even (and especially) if you don't like it or aspects of it. Should I try more like this?

For comparison's sake, here's the original (untouched photo, which I almost deleted because lighting is bad, etc):


To go from point A to point B, I introduced and messed with five textures, playing with transparency levels a lot and then going in and manually tweaking areas between layers. It was fun, and actually a lot quicker than I had anticipated. It probably only took two hours, not including the search for free, usable textures.

Hazy, without you

I had to make up for icky-quality photos. XD

Silly boys

Some not-very-good pictures for you--but they're of foals being cute, so I figured the subject matter would make up for the bad quality (they were taken when my camera was not listening to me because it was confused about aperture).

The little guy with the wide white blaze here is Caspian, and he's quite the character despite his standing as the lowest rung of the herd. (If we had a million dollars for horses, we probably would have bought him when he was two days old, haha.)

The grayish filly is Isis (her nickname, actually--I don't know how to spell her full name), and she was the little girl who lost her mom not to long ago. It was hard on her--having her and her mom's stall all to herself, but she got through it. For a while she was turned out in the outdoor arena with one of the younger "ponies" for company, but now that the other three foals are weaned she can go out in the paddock with them. This went over *very* well with her. She now spends her days chasing the two colts around, particularly Caspian, who she chases and bites on the butt. It's very cute.

I'm ashamed to say that I forgot the other colt's name. It's on the tip of my tongue but I can't quite recall it. He's been quite the rockstar--as soon as I was out there with my camera he was fighting with Isis for Prime Spot (aka in my face). As Toler's masseur says, "this is myspace, not facebook." (Go ahead, say it out loud; you know it's going to be your favorite personal-bubble comeback.) XD

On the other hand, I guess the boys like facebook better.

No cure for medicine

A random title, I know. Just seemed like a "trippy" photo, so it might suit it? This is a shot taken with the "zone plate" optic installed in my lensbaby. I've hardly used it yet (successfully), mostly because it requires slow shutter speed which means I need to use my tripod. Considering I don't know what sort of shots I want to use it for yet, that means I've been pretty limited with my experimenting thus far. The other problem with it is that I have to make sure I have my backup battery with me--having the shutter open for a long time depletes the battery *very* rapidly. The last time I had everything set up, I was also using the "pinhole" option (same optic as zone plate, but with an aperture setting changed), which requires *SLOW* shutter--i.e. like 30-45 seconds if the light is fairly bright. So, between the two I got six photos taken before the battery I had in my camera died (I had already been using it the past week, so it wasn't fully charged any longer). So, I called it quits for the day.

Long story shorter: the zone plate optic acts a little like a pinhole. That is, it uses a very small aperture, which means depth of field is very big (close to infinity focus). Because of this, and the long shutter time, photos have a softness to them. They're in focus but shifted (unless the subject is moving at all, in which case it/they will be blurred), hazy. With the zone plate, it amplifies that haziness and bleeds light and color, creating a very atmospheric and moody image.

Put it simply: if pinhole photography were contemporary classical (think film) music, zone plate photography would be a Pure Moods CD. Okay, kind of a dodgy analogy, but I think you get the picture? ;)

I am really interested in the possibilities this will open up and I already have a few things in mind. I just have to get the setting right and figure out how best to do them. =)

I'll be at home

The first real snow of the year! Technically it did snow a week or so ago, but it was really wet mush flakes, so I didn't count it. It didn't collect on the ground at all, after all. But tonight, we got our first ground-covering snow. At least an inch of it!


So, me being me, I naturally grabbed my camera and rushed outside. Used my new lensbaby, of course. Though, I had a bit of trouble because the snow was falling onto my camera and leaving little wet "kisses" on the lens and screen, so focusing was nearly impossible. Plus I think I got a little steam on the camera at one point. But anyway. I like the mood of the shots. =)


I left the first and last with a little blue saturation, mainly to bring out the little blur of light more in the first image (a back porch light, actually), and the streaks of snow coming down were more pronounced with a bit of blue for the last one. For the middle, I desaturated mostly everything except for a bit of green, magenta, and a touch of yellow. (Essentially a modified version of the "aged photo" setting I like so much.

Now if only I could convince the Nissen (Norwegian house "gnomes") to do the shoveling tomorrow morning...

IntenseDebate Comments

Hey all,

Thanks to Magaly, over at Pagan Culture, I have switched over to IntenseDebate for my comments template. This means that now comments on my blog can be threaded. I can reply to people directly, and, if they want, they can choose to be alerted when I (or others) reply to their comment(s). This does mean, however, that you'll need to put in an email address and name (and your website, if you so choose) the first time you use it.

I'm hoping that this will encourage more comments and maybe even continue into threaded conversations.

If anyone needs help using IntenseDebate, let me know. If you need help using IntenseDebate for the first time, the easiest way to let me know would be to comment on a post older than this one (Give, Take, for instance) and CHECK BACK for my assistance. (Manually checking back yourself for my reply is the key, here.)

Thanks everyone for sticking with me! <3

Give, Take

This is officially my new favorite photo of mine. =) Taken with my new Lensbaby lens, of course. To take it, Toler had to put up with me moving around on his back with a camera (bareback, mind you). It was also a very educational experience: I learned that even though Toler is an unbelievably rational horse, I am *paranoid* about having my precious camera on my person while riding him. Haha, oh well. Toler probably prefers it that way anyway. ;)

No Ordinary Love

Toler and I had another good day today, though a little unexpectedly. I went out with the thought of long-lining him--that is, using long lines attached to the bit run through rings on a surcingle to school from the ground. The idea is that you use the lines much in the same manner as the reins when riding, without actually riding. (For my non-horsie blog readers, Equine Ink has a pretty good post about it, including photo and video.)

I haven't done long-lining with Toler in *years*--though, to be honest, I'm not sure we ever did it more than once. Judging by Toler's reaction to it all, I'd say definitely not. I attached the lines to the bit through the surcingle, took up my spot just off of his inside flank to start the circle, and Toler started spinning, effectively wrapping the lines around himself because I couldn't run around him fast enough (or get him to stop, for that matter, mostly because I was laughing too hard). When he finally stopped--he couldn't move, after all--he looked at me with these big, pouting puppy-dog eyes.

I thought, well, that's okay, we'll just start on the rail and maybe it'll be easier for him to figure out. So, I let the lines drag as I led him over to the arena wall, positioned him next to it, and tried again. This time, he started to spin, hit the wall, then started wriggling every muscle in his body, truly perplexed.

It took us at least ten minutes of fussing and constant reassurance (on my part) until he got it figured out that I would just walk behind him and use the reins to steer. At that point, I had already decided to take it really easy and just ground-drive around the arena. Not even one lap around, and Toler had it all figured out--and I could tell the exact second revelation came to him. There was this big sigh, then he stretched out his neck into the contact, and responded perfectly to the slightest of cues and voice commands. It was a lot of fun. We trotted some, did some halt exercises, then worked on turning and figure-eights. I might even go so far as to say that my little moose would make a great combined driving horse. *wonders if they make those carts big enough*

Cross

Yay! Brand new photo! I took this today, actually. It's of his "figure eight" noseband, usually used for jumpers/eventers as it goes from the cheek bone, over the nose, then around the mouth in front of the bit--allowing for better control and to keep a horse from opening his mouth (to evade the bit, which can result in them biting their tongue), though I do think it tends to be more comfortable for them to wear, if you keep the strap loosely snug around the mouth.

I had a really nice time out with the hooved baby. Spent a long time brushing him, which he always appreciates, and did some joint yoga for him. It's kind of like acupressure meets energy work and trigger point massage. Very awesome, and I've found that it works wonders! The horsie chiropractor showed me two techniques for loosening his lower back and alleviating lower back pain and stiffness (which he gets big time and leads to his hips getting "out"). So, I requested her book through the library--Joint Yoga for Animals by Dr. Julie Kaufman. It goes through main points for horses, dogs, and yes, even cats, with nice photos. Anyway.

After all the brushing, I completely confused Toler by putting his bridle on (no saddle) and taking him up to the arena just to stand looking out the door while I took pictures. For your contextual appreciation, Toler *LOVES* looking out the side door. He'd stand there with his head over the gate, staring, all day if he could. Well, hay would be nice, of course. ;) I had to drag him away from the gate to get on him bareback just to take more pictures by the gate (needed to try new angles).

"What is this crazy two-legger doing to me now?" was his only remark during the proceedings--and you could totally see it in his deep brown eyes and half-cocked ears.

After all of that, I free-lounged him around the arena (a long whip for rare, as-needed sound effects is all I really need--he listens to my voice and body very well). I've been taking it easy with riding lately, as he's been off with his left hip/leg. Not quite sure what it is, but I'm not taking any chances. Riding lightly every other day and simple play the rest of the time. I also had him go over a cavaletti pole (very small jump), which he seemed to enjoy.

In New Ways

Another practice photo from this last weekend, featuring the fisheye optic for the new lens. The fisheye optic will perhaps prove to be the toughest lens accessory to get used to and comfortable with. I love it, but I've never used anything like it before. I find sometimes that it's hard for me to see the subject in the viewfinder well enough to make sure it's in focus, which provides some difficulty I wouldn't have expected. The other thing is simply drawing up a new creative curtain in my mind--how best to compose an image for the fisheye lens. Especially in the realm of equine photography. I have a feeling it'll be a stickler in my mind for several weeks, and I might be doing a lot of image searching of large angle and fisheye photography. A little bit of research inspires quite a lot. ;)

One Look

I took the morning off from piecing code together, and instead went through the new photos I took. As I suspected, only 1 in 4 photos were any good, fewer than that considered (by me) to be actually good. But, that's to be expected when learning to work with a new lens. Especially lenses as touchy (and brilliant) as Lensbabies. =) I'll probably post later about what I've learned about the lens and its current relationship with my camera.

This is probably my favorite of the bunch, an eye shot of one of Toler's paddock buds. I really like the mix of the lensbaby effect and the sharpness of the double glass optic--gives the great quality of a good dslr lens with just a little punch. I also like that, for once, the horse's eye isn't reflecting the surroundings--the light was just right.

The Impossible

So, I am elbows deep in the organs of coding for my own Blogger template--for this blog. It's going to look awesome if I can get it to work.

And I mean *if.* See--I have next to no coding experience. I know enough to type out codes for links or to swap or customize code in a pre-existing code. But I, unmistakably, have no idea how to hand-code a website. Much less a specific template for Blogger.

In the meantime, I'm learning the quirks and tricks to a new lens and set of optic accessories--a perfect graduation gift from my grandparents! I've already taken maybe 400 photos with my new preciouses. I just have to go through them on my computer and pick a few to show off. They're nothing special or anything, mostly practice shots I'm firing off to get familiar and comfortable with the new lens. But it's a whole lot of fun.

Anyway, my point is that my posting may get a bit bogged down. Between taking photos and cracking my skull over HTML, my computer time is limited.

That said, I thought I'd share a song that I can't get out of my head. And if you like it, the group has a live recording of their debut cd (which includes this track) for free download.

Weathered

A poem for you today, titled "Weathered." I wrote it in 2008, originally one of those writing exercises where you choose five words at random (books make it easy) and write something that includes all of them. Anyway, enjoy. Photos to come, maybe even later tonight.

Maybe it'll rain
She says, mantra
For everyday,
And he'll pull tight his lips
Leave her with hopes
And take up the fields again.
The soil dusts like powdered snow
Petals curl into ashy nips;
He stands upon the crest of the hill
The goat watching from the sod-roof,
Begrudging the man
With his bell-collar, filling his mouth,
Feeding on rooted hay.
Maybe it'll rain--
Such nonsense, a muddle of
Desperate sounds,
And the man kicks a potato plant
Spits
The soil dusts like powdered snow.
Even in drought
His farm is ever-busy
And timber makes the ground quake his
Axe dull,
Blood feeds not the grain
And the cows moan in their pasture, ever waiting
Like his wife,
Eyes tempting the clouds to
Turn and the mountain to
Boom with thunder.
Maybe it'll rain,
Wage peace with his wits once again
Or maybe dry leaves
Would do for lettuce.

All the fixin's

I hope everyone has a wonderful Thanksgiving! I wanted to post it today so I didn't miss it. I will be spending the day with family, playing games, and feasting. =D

Halloo

I thought we needed something fun and silly for a change. Also, Toler says "hi."

This is what happens when he realizes I'm using my little noisy box. I also suspect that this is very much the view a treat has.

Bring on the wonder

Kind of in the vein of "Hinge of the Way," taken today. I was originally going to put this in grayscale, but I love the coppery color and marbled blue-and-white sky.

I had been thinking about why I'm so drawn to this kind of image lately...

It is said that every being knows parts of the world unknown to any other being. The child knows the house and town of his childhood like nobody else--all its secrets and tucked away places. Lovers map each others' bodies into whole worlds--while the one observes the look and feel of their curves, the other knows the body's every angle, its every facet, the very code of its sensations.

We all view the world in this fashion--while some places warn us away, others claim us. Every touch and smell and sound, every rock of our footsteps and consequence of our minds becomes a pigment in our landscape, a monument to our truest, deepest selves.

To love someone, something, is to know them like no one else in the universe knows them.

As artists, we not only create grains for our viewers' landscapes to absorb, but we put our own on display, as though a magnifying glass were fitted to the crevasses of our hearts and brains. To our souls. Thus, every artist shares what he or she loves, what he or she knows as no one else in the universe knows...

And so I photograph the world around me. And so I photograph what I hold most dearly to my Self--as though, by honoring every inch of his flesh, every inch that has colored my landscape so vibrantly, I can suspend thought. Suspend time.

As We Are

A portrait of one of this last year's moms, Elation. She's always been a fairly nice mare, though she makes for a slightly overprotective mother. Something in her has always reminded me a little of Ginger, the chestnut mare in Black Beauty, though I can't quite put my finger on what.

This last week I caught the last chunk of Black Beauty on tv and felt inspired to reread the book (by Anna Sewell). Since childhood I've loved both the book and movie--I think at one point I watched the movie at least twice a week. It's such an amazing book (though I find it interesting that the movie leaves me feeling a little better about humanity than does the book), and after reading it I couldn't help but wonder how much of my relationship to horses was shaped by it. I've always understood and treated horses (and, indeed, other animals) as capable, intelligent, emotional, and innately good-natured creatures. I've always readily accepted that they see the world in a different way than we, as humans, do and have tried to understand if not stand by it.

It also makes me wonder...If Toler were to tell his life's tale, what would he say? What of his childhood? His coming to "my" barn? Of me? At least he'll never have to know the life horse's had back then--the life of a work animal, of a "beast of burden." And then I can't help but picture my beloved moose all harnessed up in front of a little buggy. Haha, what a sight that would be!

The Art of Dressage, part deux

I intercepted this video from facebook, and I thought it would make the perfect illustration for my last post, especially for people who have never seen dressage. This is a musical kur ride, which means it's a composed pattern put together with carefully (usually custom done) choreographed music. With regular dressage, horses and riders perform the same pattern without music.

But holy crap, this ride is so beautiful and nearly perfect. (Judges awarded him an overall 90.75% score, which is *amazing*. Most good rides get between 70 and 80%.)

Enjoy.

The Art of Dressage

No photo again, my dears. I have been graphically uninspired as of late. I've been reading mostly, and riding. I'm attempting to introduce an advanced dressage movement to my horse (even though he's not exactly ready for it) simply because we *really* need something new. So, I've been reading a lot. And riding a lot. And thinking about riding a lot.

So, this is going to be a discussion on Dressage/Riding as art. I'll try not to be too equestrian inclusive, though.

I borrowed a book from the local library on various dressage training strategies. It's supposed to be one of the best manuals in print for discussing techniques. I must say I find that title a bit misleading so far, but I am not finished with it yet. Anyway, right in the beginning, I found an interesting passage that I both agree and disagree with, both in terms of its discussion on "the artist" and on "the rider as artist."

"All art is based on the knowledge of its traditions and history, and a full mastery of its techniques as well as the usage of its tools. Riding, as an art, is no different. Riding, even on the level of great mastery, is still just a skill. Art is based on, yet goes beyond, these skills. The rider who has only skills is a sportsman and might feel that calling riding an art is either pretentious or offensive.

Many outstanding competitors are well skilled sportsmen. Fewer are artists, and so it should be. The craftmanship of riding, the equestrian sport, is infatuating and often irresistible. Its pursuit is often seen in the show rings and at competitions. The art of riding is sometimes resplendently displayed in the competition arena, but, being sufficient unto itself, is more often part of the everyday existence of its masters.

Observe, if you will, a horse and its rider, combined into one harmonious unit, oblivious of their surroundings. Both horse and rider seem to be in a daze or in a state of meditation, attuned to something the spectator cannot detect. They are joined in a limitless harmony without being obviously aware of each other. They appear to be attuned solely to an outside third force, an inspiration, that brought them together. The pair has beauty, for its energy and force are greater than human, greater than equine." (De Kunffy, Charles. Training Strategies for Dressage Riders. Emphasis my own.)

De Kunffy's writing both struck me and intrigued me. This is the first time I've ever heard a leading, well-awarded trainer/rider actually discuss the spiritual (in this case "artistic") aspect of riding. I like to consider it spiritual, because I encounter the same feeling on personal spiritual journeys and experiences. But it is much intensified when experienced through riding. I think because when I have those moments while riding, I'm not--as de Kunffy suggests--unaware of my horse but somehow merged soulfully with him. I've had moments so intense that for a few strides not only do I feel the "energy and force [that is] greater than human, greater than equine," but just as that energy dissipates and the world is foggily within my awareness, I experience the world simultaneously from his perspective as well as my own--I am not just rider feeling horse beneath, but horse feeling rider and ground, as well as through sight and sound. It is very difficult to explain, and typically I feel that either no one would believe me or otherwise think I've lost it more than I typically have.

Most trainers and riders, when describing any experience like this, simply describe it like any athlete describes the "zone" of hyperalert senses and impeccably tuned focus. Yes, de Kunffy could be describing his own version of an athlete's "zone," but I think I wouldn't be alone in believing that he is talking about something much deeper than that.

So what do I disagree with? His apparent attitude on the connection between art, mastery, and this artistic/spiritual phenomenon. "All art is based on...the full mastery of its techniques as well as the usage of its tools." De Kunffy, like many before him, seem to posit that Artists (that is, real artists) are only those individuals that are undebated masters of their craft. Thus, only masters can truly experience what he describes. This I have a big problem with. First, I think 90% of artists (photographers, painters, sculptors, musicians, whathaveyou) would fall short of the Master title within their field. Second, I've experienced this very same artistic/spiritual phenomenon and I think anyone at my barn would agree with me that while I'm a good rider, I'm far from being a master rider. Especially when it comes to dressage.

Yes, perhaps I'm reading into it a little too far. De Kunffy does seem to think rather highly of himself, perhaps even elitist in mentality. But he also goes into some discussion about how equestrian artists are less concerned with ribbons (ie proving their ability) and more concerned with simply seeking that connection. In other words, a rider doesn't have to be accomplished to be an artist of this sort.

Well, perhaps this has turned into a large ramble. I mostly wanted to share the quotes. One more for you:

"The skills that contribute to and promote harmony are many. They can be taught to riders. However, the sensitivity to and awareness of harmony, and the desire for it, cannot be taught, merely inspired in others...But there are those who understand and seek harmony and live by its ethics, and they naturally toward those efforts in riding that lead to total harmony, and thus the art of horsemanship."

Novel Excerpt

It has occured to me that I haven't shared much (if not any) of my writing on my blog. Considering that I like to feature the various facets of my creative energies, I think my writing should be included. (The same could perhaps be said of my compositions--the few of them that have been performed and recorded, at least, but that's a bit more complicated.) Allow me to reconcile this, and if it's "a hit," I might include more in the future. So, here's a short excerpt from the magic-realism novel I've been writing (well, it's on hiatus at the moment):

Wind shakes the many branches of the forest, and two beady eyes, velvety black, perk at its message—rain, a bit of cold weather. Buckle down, it tells the starling, watch your nest well. And to other ears it might have whispered the same.

Certainly something watches as the little oily bird takes to the air, perhaps to find a berry or a final tuft of grass—observes as the intruder comes to the home of twigs nestled under the eave of a barn, a hen, doe-brown with white on the wings and a butter-yellow belly. A moment’s pause and she flies off, the beats of her wings slow and steady—confident, almost arrogant—as she disappears through the trees.

If the starling notices the hen’s presence, she shows no indication, merely settles, body covering her four eggs—and one extra, this one flecked with brown spots and even slightly larger than her own pale blue eggs.

Unlike other cuckoos, the hen is no killer. She does not, with one nudge of her dark pointed beak, push an egg from the nest before laying her own. She does not crack them and taste of their developing flesh. She merely delivers, takes advantage of the fortune the wind has allowed her. And her nestling does not intentionally harm his adoptive brothers, does not roll their eggs or their frail naked bodies from the nest, and if they die it is because their hunger does not seem as great as his, their need not as immediate. His starling mother flits continuously to and fro, tirelessly—eagerly—to drop insects into his large gaping mouth, her own babies unnoticed.

And something did watch. A boy, it seems. Barely four by the size of him, naked, skin smudged by earth, feet cut, knees bruised and skinned, hair ragged. But his pine-green eyes are worldly, knowing. He will have to work on that, just as he will have to work on behaving like a four-year-old. Details must be perfect. The woman and her husband are not like the starling. It is not enough for the boy to look the same as their son, he must be their son. His habits, his grins.

So he has watched the son—for months, maybe a year. He is not accustomed to their notion of time yet. He has followed them when they moved into the country from a far city, migrating for the season like a pack of animals. He mimicked the memories of each day that passed. Every tumble the son took, he mimicked the bruise, the scrape—practice. Details must be perfect.

He hides behind the bush, concealed by a tangle of branches and leaves. He watches the son as he plays by the barn, climbing and running, and he waits. The mother goes inside to make lunch. The father is gone today—luck. The son is alone, now sitting with his legs dangling from a tire swing.

And it is time.

Sight unseen

I hope everyone has a happy Halloween! (Or Samhain, or All Hallow's Eve, or whatever you celebrate!) I had hoped to post something a little more festive, but this was all I had (taken recently, at least).

It's the warty side of a squash. Look at the colors! =)

Okay, just because I like you guys so much...here's me in last year's costume. I was one of the Sybilline Sisters from Doctor Who's "The Fires of Pompeii" episode. (They're prophetic "witches".) I had a navy cloak instead of a red one, but I did have eyes on the backs of my hands to complete it. The prof of my Fairy and Folk Tales class thought it was great, though he didn't understand the exact reference.

These corners

I was going to post this last night, but I got tired and didn't want to wait for uploads and such. So, I'll make another post today to make up. ;)

This probably seems like an unusual image for me to be posting. Lately I've been a little shutter-happy, but there's not currently anything for me to take pictures of, so I've been shooting a bunch of random things around the house with my macro-fitted lensbaby, just trying to capture details of the house I've spent my whole life in. All the tiny patterns and light refractions and textures I've spent my life around, slowly absorbing them. You know when you look at something, and even though you knew it was always there, you somehow never quite saw it? That's sort of how it's been--a meditation of re-examining. How many of these tiny, meaningless details have shaped my consciousness, the way I view the world? It's fun to think about, and even more fun to explore with a camera.

Sword is the soul

© 2008 Rasmus Mogensen

The sword was to be far more than a simple weapon;
it had to be an answer to life's questions.
-Eji Yoshikawa

I don't know how many of my blogger readers know that I was a fencer. At soul, I still am. I started in high school, lucky enough to have an after-school club devoted to fencing. I learned modest foil, as do most people just starting out, and while I never had the best form or patience for every tilt, I had a passion for the length of steel fixed in my hand. And a fierce aggression for demonstrating it.

In college I learned that my university had a varsity fencing team. I had never considered myself a competitive fencer--my competitive nature was reserved for equestrian, but it did mean that I could fence. Again, I started out as a member of the foil team, a large group of crazy, generally high-cultured bunch of dorks (I say so very lovingly). Fencers are interesting people, if you haven't known any yourself. And how can they not be, when you get academics and intellectuals who love to hit each other with metal then squabble over right-of-way and whether or not that slip of footing cost you the touch. Even as the eccentric pagan who growled at people, I fit in very easily.

My first two tournaments went relatively well. My technique was still a bit loose and overly aggressive, but in that respect I won a few bouts simply because I was fast and easily intimidated my opponents. Then our sabre coach stole me and I found my rightful place, where speed and a mix of well-played aggression and tactics reigns. Where touches are won in a matter of seconds and a simple, ill-timed blink can cost you the whole bout.

© Adam Pretty (?)

I loved it--I still love it. I miss it terribly.

One of my last tournaments, held at Notre Dame where the fencing takes place in the same building as the hokey rink, did not exactly go well. It was a qualifying event for regionals (and nationals), which meant that it featured team as well as individual matches. I had a cold, aggravated by the rink next to us, and by my body's intense dislike of prednisone (I was on it by doctor's orders for my tendinitis and arthritis, which was slowly robbing me of all my favorite activities, let alone basic function such as holding a pen without pain). In result, my legs turned completely blue and numb. I worried my coaches and teammates, but refused to give up on the tournament. Especially because I was to bout against Olympic gold-medal fencer Mariel Zagunis.

I expected a bout lasting no longer than twenty seconds. Fifteen touches, because it was an individual match. I expected to look like a stuffed fencing dummy compared to her. (I did, really.) And yet, somehow, I got two touches against her. One was simple, I retreated from her advances, went to block to my inside, did it sloppily enough that, while successful, wobbled my whole blade enough to brush the sleeve of her lamé. I don't even remember the second one. Every move of hers was a flash. I lost, not exactly standing still, but still immensely overpowered by her skill. Still, it's awesome to be able to say that I fenced against her.


I took most of Junior year off simply for the sake of my wrist, only going to practices once in a while. Though every time I did I felt more and more frustrated. My hand hurt all the time. My footwork got sloppy because I could hardly concentrate on anything other than my grip. I could feel the disappointment from the coaches, echoed by every strained smile and every drill we repeated. I felt distant and alienated from my teammates, especially because nearly all my close teammates had already graduated. When the summer before my Senior year brought my riding accident, it also stole the hope I had had about getting back in shape to join the team again. I needed time to recover, not to test whether or not quitting the flute allowed my wrist to heal enough for my sabre.

The Way of the Sword and the Way of Zen are identical,
for they have the same purpose--that of killing the ego.
-Yamada Jirokichi

Moving on from my overly long life's story, I find the above quote to be completely true. Most athletes experience a "zone" effect, where the world around them loses focus and things just seem to click together. I experience that in riding. I experienced that during the best bouts of my short fencing career. Air and floor became energy, and I the electricity that moved between them, my feet drawn to exactly the right places and my blade moving as swiftly as my gaze. The mind and the body's breath and pulse removed from necessity. All actions fold together into a rhythm, a dance. You can read every possibility within a second and control which becomes reality. The successful fisherman is not adept at catching fish. The successful fisherman is a part of the river, a part of his line and hook, a part of the fish caught upon it. The successful fisherman is the fish; there is no difference between them. Likewise, the fencer is the blade and their movement. Energy. There is no difference between them.

Photo © 2008 Rasmus Mogensen

Clusters

VIII Bo

Falling away.
Unfavorable to have somewhere to go.

From my Hinge of the Way series. I know, you probably thought I'd never post another one, right? I wasn't happy with the quality of the other ones, so it took a while for me to get around to re-doing my digital copies. I set up a rather elaborate easel and tripod and curtain arrangement during a gray day, so as not to get any light reflecting off the photos while still getting them light enough to take pictures of. Not my favorite thing, taking photos of photographs...I'm much happier now, though, which is what matters. ;)

You'll also notice that I'm doing something a little different with this one. I've included the Decision lines for the gua this image is titled (randomly) after, provided by Huang's translation. (I really love working with the I Ching myself, and Huang's translation meshes really well with me.) See what you make of the two together.

Movement of Souls

My second acrylic painting. Sadly it doesn't photograph very well--the background is a layered color wash and looks much more vibrant in person, with navies, greens, oranges, and a little bit of purple and red. The only thing I can get to show well in a digital version is the green, the navy looks black, but you can see the brush strokes for the most part. The grays also take on a green tint, which is not the case on the physical canvas. Oh well, I try.

It took me a long time to prep, mostly because I'm such a perfectionist that I had to do a full-size sketch of the horse and rider separately before I even started on canvas. My poor painting prof gave me grief for it, but he understood I'm too stubborn to persuade to "just go for it." (He finally got me to work on letting go when we were doing our oil paintings.)

For this piece I wanted to convey the transcending feeling I experience when Toler and I "click," when everything just fits together naturally and we lose the sense of reality around us. I associate that feeling most as the goal of dressage. So I decided to represent it by a dressage movement, abstracting the forms so they become flame-like, or at least disentangled from true physical weight.

It's a lonely night

Autumn trail rides and designing a business card for myself have occupied most of my non-writing time these days, so I shall share another artist with you in lieu of a photograph--Beth Moon.


Before I say anything about her work, I just want to say that I love her website. It is simple yet effective, remains within the color tone of her images, and doesn't detract from her work at all. Plus the layout makes it very easy to navigate. I also love that every portfolio starts immediately with her artist statements (which are all very well done, in my opinion). Sadly, these things are not always the case for photographer websites.

Moving onto her work, Beth Moon shoots mainly in medium format and hand-prints everything using a palladium process (platinum--which is the most archival of printing processes out there, allowing prints to last centuries). All of her image collections feature a beautiful ethereal, tranquil quality especially present in her Thy Kingdom Come series (depicted above).

Thy Kingdom Come is my favorite collection of hers. At first the images are a mix of spiritual and creepy--children dressed as medieval religious pilgrims with (dead) animals either bound to their backs or held against their faces. But then I study them closer--the velvety detail and soft background haze, the delicate positioning of limbs, the perfectly meditative faces--and the pieces become much more profound, each one like a dream-path unfolding before my feet, a stirring of other-worldly spirit.

"The title, in this case refers to the animal kingdom, where animals in an older world move, gifted with senses we have lost, living by voices we do not hear. With a metaphoric language these images examine the relationship between man, animal and earth.

The child intuitively walks these meridians in a pure state of living in the moment, embodying the unreflective consciousness of the animal. Migrating between the two worlds, they carry this awareness on their backs. They are the tangible form of this fusion." -a clip of Beth Moon's TKC artist statement

I simply love this idea. Allow me to repeat a phrase--The child intuitively walks these meridians in a pure state of living in the moment, embodying the unreflective consciousness of the animal. It is spiritual. Shamanic, even. For this reason, these images are very powerful for me. Some of you know that I consider myself to be a therian. Therians, for those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, are people who consider that part or all of their soul either was or contains the soul of an individual animal. It is a very spiritual thing, for me, and for years I have come to know the animal (canis dirus) consciousness within myself, her instincts and reflexes, her cravings and likings. I say her even though she and I are one in the same, because it makes it easier to talk about (and to understand). I won't go into it further here, but my point is that because of my therianthropic experiences, I keenly identify with Thy Kingdom Come's inner expression. A part of me, like the children Moon depicts, always wears those black over tunics and belts, the body of a dire wolf strapped to my back.

Favorite images: "Three Figures", "Way of the hare", "Listening to the Sky", and "Last Comes the Raven".

Her series, Portraits of Time, is a collection of portraits of ancient trees. The soft tones, contrast, and memory-like haze lend an air of discovery to each image. I imagine walking for hours through forests and suddenly coming upon one of the trees in these photographs, stepping directly into a sublime, timeless world where everything feels familiar. My favorite images: "Much Marcle Yew", "The Yews of Wakehurst", and "Queen Elizabeth Oak".

I'll leave it here and let you explore Seen But Not Heard and The Savage Garden on your own, if you'd like to.

A little change

I've been a bit behind with working on my photos. My excuse this time is that I've been writing a lot, which is a very good thing for me anyway. I have almost 70 pages written at the moment--I'd give a word count, but I'm writing by hand. I love the process of writing--that's actually why I write, not for the finished product but for that trance-like surge of creative energy. It's marvelous. I'd forgotten how much more potent it is when the writing is done by pen rather than by keystroke.

Anyhow. Spurred by this, I decided that it would be nice if I featured artists and specific pieces I like. (It's good for the ego, I've heard...) So today I'm featuring the work of Susan Friedman:


Her bio (on her site) surprised me a bit--she got a BA in Literature, going on in photography and film at SFAI. I've often heard (mostly through J&J) that many graduate-level artists weren't actually art majors in college. Julie made a particular point of telling me, I think as a nudge to say that if I wanted to, it wouldn't be impossible to get in as a non-major.

Friedman has done a lot of excellent film work (I think I've even unwittingly seen something of hers), and even won a Grammy. Nice, eh?

But it's her photography that I'm focusing on here... Her most recent work is Equus. She brings a calm, ethereal and reflective mood to her collection of portraits and motion grids. I was pleased to see that she used a hasselblad (<3) for some of the photos (and a view camera) then scanned the images and toned them digitally, and by the looks of it, added some texture layers as well. I'm not so sure I like the latest trend of photographers texturing their work, but I don't think her photographs would have the same effect without it. I love what she says about her equine work, though:

"There is something in the idea of the horse that evokes what I feel we as humans have lost: our connection to spirit, sense of wildness, and our spontaneity. These motion studies represent the real strength, freedom and individual spirit that exists in these horses, and in us, despite the constraints imposed by frame, and by the confines of our daily lives." -Friedman

This is also one of the few times where I actually got that through the photogarphs before reading the statement. Major props.

My favorite Equus images are "Tesoro - Garden" (gallery 2), "Trotter" (g2), "Vito Smaller 2" (g2), and "Moving Forward" (g1). I think "Trotter" is the most successful motion image, and I simply love the background in Tesoro. It reminds me of a poem by Wordsworth (several, actually).

But her Women gallery (pictured in the screen shot above), to me, is the most provacative. There is a raw, almost pagan/spiritual quality to them. Heightened by the level of detail (*cough* HASSELBLAD *cough). My absolute favorite image is "Carol - Franklin Point" (g2). It grabs me and does not let go. I love the light on her skin, the pose that abstracts her form into something other than body. She becomes a moon, the flash of a dolphin or whale among the waves. I also love the narrative of "Martha" (g2). Other top listers are "Women in White 1" (g1), "Nina and Buddha" (g1), "Vivianna" (g1), and "Walks on Water" (g1).

Make me feel

Suddenly it's Tuesday night and I have NO idea where the weekend went. Though part of that posting deficit is that I've been working on digital prints quite a bit. Let me tell you, healing dust spots with a 3:1+ magnification SUCKS. I feel like I'm blind. Or at least seeing spots. (The pixels of the world, perhaps?)

Back to the photo...This is Chase, one of Toler's pasture buds. He has large, expressive eyes just like Toler, but because 1) he's significantly shorter and 2) he's dapple gray, getting nice eye shots of him is WAY easier. Toler and I will work on this.

Exposed

One of the supports for the rafters in the barn. Something tells me it's not very supportive anymore...


This was taken during one of my walks through the woods up north. I rounded a bend in the path and found this *enormous* grove of Queen Anne's Lace flowers (my new favorite wildflower). I can't explain how massive the patch was; this photo does it little justice. It was magical, and almost forbidden for its little grove was entirely surrounded by thorny raspberry and blackberry bushes. Every time I go into that patch of woods I find something new, something that inspires me and bridges the world of the visible with the world of the invisible. (That's why I always carry my runes with me when I walk in them.)

Fun with hay

This is one of Toler's buds in his paddock, who decided that it would be more fun to throw hay than eat it. Well, at least for a moment. I wanted to get more depth of field, but sometimes you only have to time to release the shutter. Oh welll.