unloved and abandoned

I attended a photographic workshop led by Paul Hill and Maria Falconer.Most interesting and definatly pushed boundaries for me.

Below is the exterior of a disused telephone exchange, built using plastic panels and windows set in metal frames. The frames now have the paint peeling away, the panels have discoloured and in the windows discoloured venetian blinds can be seen.

For this piece of work I have selected certain sections of panels, distressed and changed them using a photo edit programme and then cropped.

Each picture needs to be viewed individually.

 

 

 

 

 

Red sky at night shepherds delight

God spoke: “Light!”
And light appeared.
God saw that light was good
and separated light from dark.
God named the light Day,
he named the dark Night.
It was evening, it was morning—
Day One.

The sun slowly goes down over the horizon.As it disappears, the burning light of the sun dulls and becomes a huge disc of orange and yellow.The sun’s orange  mingles with the light blue colour of the sky and  produced a vast contrast of different colours like flames of fire, gold, bronze,orange. It is like watching a screen slowly changing colour. The scene is truly beautiful. The dull light of the sun somehow illuminates everything. Everything was almost still and the effect of the light made the scene look like one in a painting. The sun was gradually going down and by the time it almost disappeared, the sky had patterns of different colours, from light purple to a dull blue. The scene is mesmerizing. I stand quiet and watch and this golden disc gradually disappears to rise in another place. the birds are just silhouettes in the sky.

The sunset  signalling   a time of rest for, a time to recuperate from the trials of the day.

The stillness gives time to reflect  on Gods creation.

Beyond the sunset,
O blissful morning,
When with our Saviour
Heav’n is begun.
Earth’s toiling ended,
O glorious dawning;
Beyond the sunset
When day is done.

Beyond the sunset,
No clouds will gather,
No storms will threaten,
No fears annoy;
O day of gladness,
O day unending,
Beyond the sunset,
Eternal Joy.

Beyond the sunset,
A hand will guide me
To God, the Father,
Whom I adore;
His glorious presence,
His words of welcome,
Will be my portion
On that fair shore.

Beyond the sunset,
O glad reunion,
With our dear loved ones
Who’ve gone before;
In that fair homeland
We’ll know no parting,
Beyond the sunset
For evermore!
Virgil Brock

The Old Jug in the Summer House.

A jug sitting on a shelf in a summer house. But not just any jug for it has a story to tell, where was a made, who made and with what, who chose the design,the colour the shape, whose hands shaped it, decorated it, made the delicate handle and decided it should not be plain. I wonder how many hands have held this jug so tight, so as not to drop and break its beautiful form. Was it used to carry water to bathe weary feet, to carry hot water when a babe was about to born. Flowers will a have filled it.But what kind?

This jug may now be in the summer house it may or maynot  be used but it has a story to tell.

 

The Jug stands prominent on its shelf, its curved rounded shape contrasting against the angles of the box on which it stands, against the angles and corners in the summer house. The summerhouse with its rustic charm has like the Jug a story tell.If it is wasn’t for the modern battery powered tool and the  black bin liner it could been seen as untouched for decades. Questions to ask – Who rocked gently in the chair did they find solace whilst  in that rocking chair,I wonder did the worry that came with them to that place leave them whilst rocking,rocking in that chair.What did the wooden boxes contain it times gone by was it something to excite the senses. Has the picnic basket ever contained a sumptuous summer feast, only the basket knows that and was that summer feast held outside this summer house and did a summertime reveller sit on this seat.

Did the Jug come outside for it may at sometime in its history have contained freshly made elderflower cordial or lemonade.

It is just that, a seat for two. It too has a story. It provides rest for the weary worker, a seat for the contemplative, a seat for someone who just wants to be still to remember times past and plan for times to come. And maybe a drink from the Jug in the summer house. But it provides a resting place for stripped willow.

The seat rests outside the summer house wherein the Jug doth rest

The home of the Jug, The summerhouse

I came across this summerhouse in a field in Dorset. Isn’t it wonderful. Surrounded as it is by the hills of West Dorset it is a haven of peace and tranquility. It to has a story to tell.The summerhouse just sits there minding it own business surrounded by an eclectic mix of objects. But look further and you see a bird nesting box, a garden sieve, a seat for two and a table. This isnt a forgotten place it is a place of refuge, a place to potter, a place to create, a quite haven to while away the day away from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. But by whom? I have taken you inside, the story is mine.

I love the jug, for the fineness of its handle, its delicate decoration, its delicate colour and the way is stands proudly as of to say “I am here decorating this summer house,whether you love me or not”