047. Marks

More development of the sandwritten asemic theme today, choosing the sand and water and light from Billie's day 47, and contrasting it against more experimental sand/asemic image stuff. Just practising really...

marks

washed

slates

rinsed

clean

more

marks

046. Sandwritten

Ignoring for the moment that I just had an Amazon delivery of 7 books, that are itching at the corner of my vision... I was intrigued when during my >language>place blog carnival hosting, I came across the concept of asemic writing. Hosting the carnival allowed me to feature Sean Burn, and Dorothee Lang with Karyn Eisler; and led, through there to facebook groups, and a world of half-sensical words. Step on in...

I would have written there, right across your toenails on the shoreline; I knew the waters would lap my words away but I liked the impermanence. You would have gotten the wrong idea, had I crouched at your feet. Or, maybe, not...

045. self stimulation

Sometimes you just get into a loop. I don't go outside as much as I used to, I don't open the kitchen door/window so much, now that he isn't there to wander in and out. His friend and look-alike came to visit again today, when I did open the door. Came into the flat and ran into all the rooms again. Quicker this time. Like he too had lost hope. Oh, well, cropping again.

Sometimes I just miss him

044. Ladders

Inspired again by Dorothee Lang, following her series on cropping and editing photographs. When it comes to experimenting with pictures, I am not organised/methodical/whatever-it-is enough to track the process of editing images that I do in photoshop. I call it playing, I compulsively play around with the different tools (for a while I lost my normal brushes and only had some really weird ones to play with that did not give me any sort of desired effect; but now I found them again I am experimenting again...

He showed me ladders to the sky, propped up resting against the blue-whiteness. It was blind faith that led me to put my hand on the smooth wood, not the rungs, the sides. Do the sides of ladders have a name? I suppose, six steps up, that it doesn't really matter. I am already farther away from the ground than I am comfortable with, but I am not terrified today. Slide my hand again, grasping the juncture, letting my fingers curl around the upright. He watches me. I am not sure where he is, sometimes he seems ahead, beckoning me on, sometimes a safety net behind. I think he must be climbing a parallel ladder. The rungs fade into a solid air, not visible, but still I keep climbing. He is not visible but still, still I keep on. More like I stick my toes into the sky and it hangs on to them for me, grasps my wrists. Is this what faith in myself is like?

043. Silicate

More from Katie Bentley, her "Distressed Base" caught my eye, amoeba-like and stuck in my head while I mulled it over. And also I have brought in some extreme cropping, inspired by Dorothee, but I didn't save the photoshop files in the right versions or something so I can't demonstrate the size of the original... the sand piece below is ~7% of the total picture size, however...

                            no it does not feel rough
                            against my skin
                         smoothed down shells, rocks
                                                            worn
                            pushing the grains aside,
                            burrowing, cocooning, things
                         are different under the
                                                          surface

042. I said, Don't look back

Playing catch up again - sometimes life & projects don't mix too well. I have a couple of weeks trip coming up & have to sort out how I will manage to keep up with 100 days. I don't want to peter out, I am enjoying it too much, I guess I am just worried that I will find excuses to. Today's picture from Stephen Hastings-King's wonderful edge effects blog, his day 42 and his wonderful words from "Outside"
"When we passed the boundary my mind opened like a fan. I saw words floating on the surface of the water, everything I was going to say."

I know I said the road led nowhere

but it was nice to know it was there

if your flood-waters drain from here

will a path for me appear?

041. Don't look back

Change of emphasis today, I went browsing over at Bruce Spear's blog again, and found a load of wonderful images of faces, characters. Among them, the anonymous faces of advertisements, or posters, or who knows what, behind glass. I picked n° 29, I love the condensation on the hair of the bloke. And I have been dying to use the shot below of a graffitied window from Berlin... words - free form god-knows what... Let me know what you think!

the faces say "you want to let us out" at least that's what you think until scrunching the glass under your feet you realise they said only "look at you" and you can't hide from their eyes following that point behind your ear you would turn and look but they would follow and you would look like a cat trying to chase its tail

pause paws pause paws pause pause paws 

you think you are being clever but their expressions are verging on condescending squeak goes the glass crumbs trapped in the pattern on the soles of your shoes squeak squeak skreeeeek as you start to run away

040. Drifting

Continuing with yesterday's (somewhat downbeat) theme, I came across Kelli Costa's picture of a drooping lily, her "Day 38" picture reminiscent of an un-cocooning, a metamorphosis where the flower becomes insect, all bedraggled wings. I put it together with a drifting apart image; with petals, stamens drifted from the lilies I had bought for Seville.

You drifted unwillingly into my country today.

I was not there, I had crawled a little closer

to your country, that was once mine too.

039. petals

The sun today, brought to mind all the clichés about hammers, and saunas; the sheer weight of it pushing me down, slumped in my office with the fan fingering warm air around and I swell like patted dough. 6hours of workshop too, talking about how we should talk more, or talk to different people, or talk in a different way or talk more often. Or just talk to hear ourselves talk. I hate the way my voice becomes strident when I want people to shut up. Picked again for circles, for some edginess, and for the title is Carianne Garside's piece "inside things you hold"

We are not in sync today. I guess that is the way things are but we usually both wilfully ignore that and concentrate on the things we want to see in each other. Today my flower, you do not metaphorically show me your stamen, we are not burst together from the bud where we lay tightly furled, and today it seems as though we do not want that again. Reaching out to the light and time is so short. We let the inside things drop. When the petals fall, we may look back and regret.

038. what is between us?

today, looking for more circles, to develop the on/off/round again we go theme that has been in my head for a couple of weeks... but no, that wasn't what came to inspire me in the end. A similar meme, picked up from Silvana's "The space between us (detail)", contrasted against a filled space...

                                        you have left a space there for me
                    of course I think it is on purpose
                                                            you knew I would step into it, after all
                                                                                why is it that I fill you up, should it
                    not be the other way around; but
                                                            you would not step into what is between
                                         us, you would not be that bold,
                                                                                that deliberate;. it is okay for me to take
                                                            the lead, wait there for me, I am all
                                        of your free spirit.