Posts Tagged ‘Barn

20
Feb
19

secrets…

Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets. – Paul Tournier

old barn-siding-window-SwittersB

11
Apr
17

Don’t you wonder?

“The barn standing so simple, embraced with time past, an old dwelling full of memories that forever last.   Rain dripping down the eaves, rabbits burrowing underneath the leaves.   Walking with my mind back to days untold, a path in which my father tread until he was very old.”  Lorraine E. Watson, Ode to the Old Barn

old barn-eastern oregon-SwittersB

21
Mar
17

forgotten barn…

old vines reach upward
faded red siding gives way
cracks and seams yielding

01
Mar
17

a place in the country…

“Inside a barn is a whole universe, with its own time zone and climate and ecosystem, a shadowy world of swirling dust illuminated in tiger stripes by light shining through the cracks between the boards. Old leather tack, lengths of chain, rope, and baling twine dangled from nails and rafters and draped over stall railings. Generations of pocketknives lay lost in the layers of detritus on the floor.” Carolyn Jourdan, Heart in the Right Place

oregon-old-ladder-barn-swittersb

03
Mar
16

fair warning…

caution-ladder-barn-SwittersB-

06
Jun
14

High & Dry

ukraine--floating old fertilizer bn

Ukraine Barn…High and Dry

06
Jun
14

Old Barn

“Any Jackass can kick down a barn, but it takes a good carpenter to build one.” Sam Rayburn

“Do not let a flattering woman coax and wheedle you and deceive you; she is after your barn.” Hesiod

“Inside a barn is a whole universe, with its own time zone and climate and ecosystem, a shadowy world of swirling dust illuminated in tiger stripes by light shining through the cracks between the boards. Old leather tack, lengths of chain, rope, and baling twine dangled from nails and rafters and draped over stall railings. Generations of pocketknives lay lost in the layers of detritus on the floor.”  Carolyn Jourdan

Barn--ladder-holes-photography-SwittersB

17
Nov
13

Photography: Sometimes It Is Just Black & White……

or shades of gray. Looking at the previous post re cactus flowers, it is evident I like that pop of color because…….

So much of my photographic efforts are impulsive and frankly not well reasoned. I can’t say I just do it. I do give some thought to positioning, angles, lighting, texture and color. But, even that is still less thought out. I think color is uplifting to my psyche? Maybe it just pleases, soothes and that’s it.

So, black and white or gray scales of imagery is appealing because…….

Hmm? Again not sure. Obviously, I am quite primitive or immature or limited by my conceptual awareness while pushing that button. Black & White images seem other worldly. They seem to be  in an adjoining time dimension or dream like. Somewhere our mind would visit but not stay. 

I really do need to develop some technical awareness here. Today’s cameras and apps make for lazy knowledge. For us lazy minded students of the art form….ones that just feel, imagine, impulsively snap away based on some intuitive twitch…..thank goodness! I’m having a hard time learning anything anymore.

Old Vines Barn SwittersB

old ladder bar  swittersb

Old Handle Fence SB

 

However there are those times that just beg for color!!! They are times we want to linger, want to savor and want the colors.

Trout and SwittersB Red Scarf_1024

 

04
Nov
13

Photography: Lone Pine Tree Indian Village Barn

old Barn LPTB

LPTB9 SwittersB

LPTB10 SwittersB

LPTB1 SwittersB

I made an interesting discovery re Lone Pine Tree Village near The Dalles, Oregon. It involves, Wasco Indians, Shakers, religion, a church and a tolerant Henry Gulick….more to follow……

24
Jul
13

Poetry of What Was……………..

Barn Window SB

Abandoned Farmhouse

BY Ted Kooser

He was a big man, says the size of his shoes
on a pile of broken dishes by the house;
a tall man too, says the length of the bed
in an upstairs room; and a good, God-fearing man,
says the Bible with a broken back
on the floor below the window, dusty with sun;
but not a man for farming, say the fields
cluttered with boulders and the leaky barn.
A woman lived with him, says the bedroom wall
papered with lilacs and the kitchen shelves
covered with oilcloth, and they had a child,
says the sandbox made from a tractor tire.
Money was scarce, say the jars of plum preserves
and canned tomatoes sealed in the cellar hole.
And the winters cold, say the rags in the window frames.
It was lonely here, says the narrow country road.
Something went wrong, says the empty house
in the weed-choked yard. Stones in the fields
say he was not a farmer; the still-sealed jars
in the cellar say she left in a nervous haste.
And the child? Its toys are strewn in the yard
like branches after a storm–a rubber cow,
a rusty tractor with a broken plow,
a doll in overalls. Something went wrong, they say.



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