Smile My Heart,Smile~Louise c. Fryer

Smile My Heart Smile ©2012 Louise c. Fryer















Thursday, December 25, 2014

Another Kind of Christmas: Close to the Earth

Gaza mother and child ZoriahWoman and Child - Refugee Camp, Gaza City © Zoriah/www.zoriah.com
Note from the Photographer: A woman holds a child in Gaza City's Beach Camp, one of the world's longest-standing refugee camps. The poverty in such areas often makes you feel as if you have taken a step back in time.

And so it was that while they were there, 
the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him

in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger;
because there was no room for them in the inn.
Luke 2: 6-7 KJV

May the God of your Soul give you peace in this Season of Brotherhood and May Angels walk with you into the New Year.

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Tuesday, December 24, 2013

The Spirit of Christmas ~ Haiku My Heart

The Spirit of Christmas©2011 Thomas HawkThe Spirit of Christmas – Alameda CA  (some rights reserved)
The Soft Glow of Lights
The Scent of Sweet Pine Branches
The Warmth of Friendship.
-Noelle Renee
Linked with Rebecca’s Blog at Recuerda mi Corazon
~~
About the Photographer
Thomas Hawk Sometimes I like to think of myself as a photography factory. I see my photographs mostly as raw material for projects that might be worked on at some point later on in life. When I'm not taking or processing the pictures I'm mostly thinking about the pictures. I'm trying to publish a library of 1,000,000 finished, processed photographs before I die. The absurdity of my obsessive compulsive view on photography is not lost on me. But it is the absurdity of life that I find most beautiful of all. Where Sisyphus had his stone I have my camera and a bag full of lenses. Most of my images are Creative Commons licensed, non commercial with attribution.  If you'd like to use any CC licensed images for non commercial or personal purposes feel free.  If you'd like to use any of my images commercially, please contact me. "Don't think about making art. Just get it done. Let everyone else decide if it's good or bad, whether they love it or hate it. While they're deciding, make even more art." - Andy Warhol









Sunday, July 7, 2013

Birdwings ~Rumi

birdwing

Birdwings

Your grief for what you’ve lost lifts a mirror

up to where you’re bravely working.

Expecting the worst, you look, and instead,
here's the joyful face you’ve been wanting to see.

Your hand opens and closes and opens and closes.
If it were always a fist or always stretched open,
you would be paralyzed.

Kerekes50

Your deepest presence is in every small contracting and expanding,
the two as beautifully balanced and coordinated
as birdwings.

~Jalaluddin Rumi

Rumi dervish drawing

Excerpt from an Online Essay by Margaret Lottridge July 2004

Jalaluddin Rumi (Mawlana) 1207-1273

http://www.towerpoetry.ca/talk-lottridge.html

Jalaluddin Rumi, Persia’s best known lyrical poet and mystic, was born circa September 30, 1207 A.D. in Balkh, Central Asia, in what is now modern Afghanistan. Eighteen years later his family fled from invading Mongols, settling for a time in Laranda, Central Anatolia (present-day Karaman, Turkey) where Jalaluddin married Jawhar Khatun. His father, Baha’uddin Valad, the “Sultan of the Learned," moved the family to Konya (modern Turkey) in 1228 and founded a school of Islamic philosophy and theology.

Jalaluddin Rumi became a teacher and theologian who wrote scholarly articles. His traditional education was enhanced by the guidance of his father, a mystic and theologian, and through initiation experiences with his first teacher, Sufi master Sayyid Burhanuddin Muhaqqiq of Termez (a former student of Baha’uddin). Upon his father’s demise in January of 1231, Jalaluddin Rumi inherited the school and took over the responsibilities of guiding its students.

Rumi’s theoretical knowledge of divine principles was transformed by his relationship with Shamsuddin Muhammad of Tabriz. Shams, an enlightened being, a wandering dervish with an existential initiation and teaching style, was searching for someone to receive his knowledge – “someone whose soul was as wide and deep as his own.” Rumi, with his open, questioning mind, found in Shams the perfect mirror of his own soul – his Beloved – the Friend in much of his poetry.

Rumi and Shams met on a street in Konya in the fall of 1244.
Various accounts of their first encounter illustrate that the bond between Shams and Rumi was immediate and life-changing. In one account, Shams falls to the ground in a faint at Rumi’s replies to his introductory queries. Another account has Shams throwing Rumi’s treasured books into a fountain and telling him to begin to live what he’s been reading. He says the pages will be dry, as they were, if he lifts them out. Rumi leaves them in the water and they begin the first of many mystical retreats together. This is when Rumi’s scholarly writings took on the wings of poetry….

~Margaret Lottridge 2004

Friday, June 14, 2013

Father's Day: The Gift ~ Li-Young Lee

hands 3Father & Son”  posted here with the kind permission of John Dunne.

To pull the metal splinter from my palm
my father recited a story in a low voice.
I watched his lovely face and not the blade.
Before the story ended, he’d removed
the iron sliver I thought I’d die from.
Kerekes Hands© 2012 Istvan Kerekes posted with kind permission of the photographer

I can’t remember the tale,
but hear his voice still, a well
of dark water, a prayer.
And I recall his hands,
two measures of tenderness
he laid against my face,
the flames of discipline
he raised above my head.
erzelem xDSC_0065-02 Kerekes© 2012 Istvan Kerekes posted with kind permission of the photographer

Had you entered that afternoon
you would have thought you saw a man
planting something in a boy’s palm,
a silver tear, a tiny flame.
Had you followed that boy
you would have arrived here,
where I bend over my wife’s right hand.
Blue Gold Nicolas EvaristeBlue Gold©2012 Nicolas Evariste

Look how I shave her thumbnail down
so carefully she feels no pain.
Watch as I lift the splinter out.
DSC_0158-01© 2012 Istvan Kerekes posted with kind permission of the photographer

I was seven when my father
took my hand like this,
and I did not hold that shard
between my fingers and think,
Metal that will bury me,
christen it Little Assassin,
Ore Going Deep for My Heart.
And I did not lift up my wound and cry,
Death visited here!
560645_467120869969627_1409366501_n© 2012 Istvan Kerekes posted with kind permission of the photographer

I did what a child does
when he’s given something to keep.
I kissed my father.
Li-Young Lee, “The Gift” from Rose. Copyright ©1986 by Li-Young Lee.

About Istvan Kerekes

Photographer
In His Own Words
I have been a photographer since 2007. My favourite subject is The Man. I would like to show the souls behind the faces. Everyone has feelings, everybody loves and breathes. My subjects are usually ordinary people. My main aim is to show their personalities through my images. One of William Albert Allard’s thoughts on photos and photography is just like mine, I truly believe in it: “the good portrait is about the eye, the look, since the human soul is reflected in it the most purely.”When taking photos it is my heart that leads me. After I have tuned to the subject I act instinctively.
Istvan’s website: http://www.kerekesistvan.hu/
*Copyrighted images are posted with kind permission of the photographer.



































Saturday, March 30, 2013

Heartbeat

 

575743_438718379547136_369268963_n

©2013 Louise Fryer ~ Heartbeat

“Memory was that woman on the train. Insane in the way she sifted through dark things in a closet and emerged with the most unlikely ones - a fleeting look, a feeling. The smell of smoke. A windscreen wiper. A mother's marble eyes. Quite sane in the way she left huge tracts of darkness veiled. Unremembered.”
Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things

Monday, March 18, 2013

Chiaroscuro

Chiaroscuro from Vitùc on Vimeo.

Shot with iPhone and Hipstamatic App / Tinto 1848 + D-Type Plate
Italy 12.2012

Music composed by David Ianni
Prayers of Silence - Rosa Mystica I
http://davidianni.com